


We meet in the Shadows

by One_Real_Imonkey



Series: Every Shadow Needs a Light. [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Battle of Naboo (Star Wars), Blanket Permission, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Injury Recovery, Jedi Culture & Tradition (Star Wars), Jedi Obi-Wan, Jedi missions, Major Character Injury, Mandalorian Competency Kink, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Mandalorian Jango Fett, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Slavery, Slow Burn, Therapy, Whump, mandalorian competance kink, mandalorian missions, not slavery for long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 37,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28623921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/One_Real_Imonkey/pseuds/One_Real_Imonkey
Summary: Jango, 14, meets Obi-Wan, 13, in the deep-sea mines of Bandomeer.They go their separate ways without any way to communicate, and in another universe that would have been it.But, in another universe, Jaster Mereel dies and the Haat Mando'ade are destroyed, in another universe Obi-Wan dies on Melida-Daan. In another universe they didn't meet until a cold rainy day on Kamiino.This isn't that universe.The Force wills them meet again.Somehow, this changes everything.
Relationships: Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jango Fett & Jaster Mereel, Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Quinlan Vos, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Every Shadow Needs a Light. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097489
Comments: 732
Kudos: 1290





	1. First Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> New story.  
> I don't own.  
> I've fudged ages and timelines a little.  
> I hope you enjoy.

The first time they met was through an act of malice and betrayal.

Obi-Wan, not quite 13, taken captive to demoralise his not-quite-Master. Enslaved by Xanatos, his masters former padawan. 

A darksider who’d promised he would never be found before sending him to the deep-sea mines below.

Jango , all of 14, taken captive to demoralise their  Mand’alor , his  Buir . Betrayed by Montross, his  Buir ’s second in command. 

A shabuir who had promised him Jaster would die  grieving him  before selling him to Off World Mining.

Neither knew which traitor had decided that it would be entertaining to imprison a Jedi and a Mandalorian together.

Neither had to guess the reason.

But trapped in cell-like rooms, bomb collars around their necks, forced into soul-crushing labour, neither boy was willing to further the feud.

.

Jango had understood that the child in the cell was supposed to be his enemy but, in his mind, he couldn’t quite connect the exhausted, dirty, scrawny child to the powerful dangerous Jetiise.

He'd been thrown into the cell with  force by two guards, and the door squealed shut behind him. The man who had been following them swanned around on the other side of the cell, looking overjoyed, practically singing as he called out into the cell.

“Obi-Wan, little brother...?”

The boy looked up from where he’d been slumped against the wall, head down, and the... the shereshoy in his face surprised him. He hadn’t expected such a lust for life in the face of someone who looked so beaten down.

“You have a cell mate. This is Jango, he’s a Mandalorian. Have fun, little Jedi.”

There was a burning fire in the boy's eyes as the other had made his announcement, but he held his tongue. It vanished as soon as they left, and the boy, Obi-Wan dropped his head back down, shuffling back into the corner of the cell, curling up as though he fully expected Jango to hurt him and was completely resigned to it.

Then again, the yellow eyed man had called him brother ... If he couldn’t trust family what reason did he have to trust a Mando?

Clearly, he didn’t know that Mando’ade would never dare harm an ad.

“It’s ok, I won’t hurt you.”

“Why not?”

The question threw him slightly, the Jet’ika definitely didn’t know the finer points of Mandalorian culture. The amused huff, weary tone and bruises painted an awful image in his mind but they also steeled his determination.

“Because you’re adiik, because you’ve done no wrong. Because if we’re going to be stuck in here, we should at least be civil.”

“ So what, we’re in this together?”

“It looks that way, Jet’ika.”

“Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan Kenobi. He/him.”

“Jango Fett, he/him.”

“You should eat that, it’s the only meal you’ll get today.”

“It looks like mud.”

“Tastes like wet dust. But it’ll keep you alive.”

He complied with the... with Obi-Wan's recommendation.

It did taste like wet dust.

From what he could tell they were deep enough that there was no day or night, just work hours and rest period, but the cell was cold and the longer he stayed still the colder he got. As he started to get up to move about and warm up, however, Obi-Wan spoke up again.

“Don’t waste your energy. They'll work you to death, beat you, shock you for the slightest infraction and without good reason. Save whatever energy you have, you’ll need it.”

Even in the dull light, he could see that Obi-Wan was pale and practically emaciated and the bags under his eyes served as frames for eyes that held a deep exhaustion. Under the collar was livid red from the shocks, and his body was riddled with bruises of various ages. He had to have been here for some time, surely someone should have found him by now. He was so young. And a Jetii. Didn't the Jetiise look after their own?

“How long have you been here?”

“About a month, I think. Can’t be certain, but Xanatos likes to taunt me.”

“The shabuir who put us in here together and called you brother?”

“ M’hm . He... it’s complex. But he wants revenge for a perceived betrayal and taking me was a big part of it. He liked to taunt me with how far anyone is from finding me.”

If he had to guess, his  dar’vod had fallen out with their  Buir , and the  huut’un had decided going after his  vod’ika was revenge. He hadn’t even known  Jetiise had  aliit like this, but then, he’d never really thought about it.

“They will find us, my aliit or yours. They will, or we’ll escape ourselves.”

“You’re very willing to work with a Jedi.”

“You’re willing to work with a Mando. Besides, we’re trapped in here together, might as well work with it.”

“I’m willing to help you survive here. To be a Jedi is to help others no matter what.”

“Of course, it is.  Although, let's be real, you’re half a Jetii. You're tiny.”

“Very funny.”

“Seriously, how old are you, 9?”

“9, how dare you? I'm 12. Or 13. I don’t know exactly. My birthday is somewhere around here.”

Oh Ka’ra, this poor ad. He did not look 12 or 13. He was tiny, but how much of that was weight loss and having his soul crushed by the slavers. At least his tone had been light, the fire back in his eyes.

At least.

Ka'ra , this boy was only a year or so younger than him. How was this scrap of a boy only a year younger than him?

“If I'm not supposed to waste energy, how am I supposed to stay warm?”

“Deal with it, like everyone else?”

His tone wasn’t harsh,  more resigned than anything,  but his answer was fair. They didn’t have blankets, or anything else that worked that way, the cell was tiny and basically bare and he’d already been suffering this a month.

It took a week for Jango to want to break down and cry. Forget being the  Ad’be’Alor , forget being ori’ramikad, he just wanted to give up.

How the hells had Obi-Wan managed this for over a month?

His body had never hurt this much, he’d never felt so broken and unwanted. There was something so demoralising about this place, and it was likely designed that way. He wondered how awful it must be for someone who could ‘feel evil and hurt’ the way jetiise were supposed to be able to.

Their cell was small, enough room for them both to sit or lie down, but little more than that, a bucket in the corner for everything else. They were given water, but only one meal between them both. He was happy to share it, or to rotate who ate each day, but it hurt to think that his cellmate would be forced to eat even less than usual. He did his best to make sure Obi-Wan was getting larger portions but it was clearly beginning to slow him down. 

Then there was the oppressive cold, seizing his muscles and weakening him little by little.

The fifth night was the coldest since he’d arrived, and Obi-Wan had been shivering so much it had to have been painful. Despite his generosity, the boy had been wary of him getting close, and he’d been happy to respect that, but Jango couldn’t let him freeze.

Ob’ika didn’t protest when  Jango pulled him in close to his side, just curled his head into  Jango’s shoulder with another shiver. It hadn’t been much, and he  knew there was little he could really do, but it felt like he was doing something to protect this ad.

They slept that night together, sharing body heat through thin and torn clothes.

That night and every night after.

That was the catalyst, and from then on, they had become not just allies but friends.

They watched each other's backs, picked each other up when they fell, bandaged each other's wounds and protected one another wherever and whenever they could. 

There was no-one else who cared so they had to.

Half way through of Obi- Wan's third month, and  Jango’s second, they had a plan for escape, and with the discovery of bombs hidden around the mines, they had urgency and motivation to work fast. How the  ad’ika had managed to hold such passion and fire though everything was stunning, and he had to wonder if this was what  Jetii were really like... if all of them cared this much? Were this passionate about saving others, this willing to die to save even one other life?

Or was it just  Ob’ika , a special soul among the  Jetiise . 

What if he came back to  Mandalore instead,  Jango couldn’t help but wonder? Be away from the  Jetii who might destroy the fire he could see here? But they were his culture and his people  and, in the darkness and cold of the night, all of Obi- Wan's stories had been told with love and wistfulness. 

It was half way through their escape that the Jetii, Jinn, arrived, security forces in tow. 

They were freed.

For a month and a half , their backgrounds hadn’t mattered, surviving had mattered.

But that  time was over and the real world awaited them.

It was only as he watched the shuttle take off taking Obi-Wan back to the Jetiise to become Master Jinn’s padawan and that Jango realised they’d parted with no way to communicate. 

And worse, that Obi-Wan might not want to...

It took a few hours to escape the healers that had come to help with freeing the slaves, making for a spaceport he knew was frequented by Haat Mando’ade. By the end of the day, he was on his way home.

His choice to burst into his Buir’s council chambers was questionable, and had certainly felt insensitive to his Buir afterwards, but the look on Montross’ face had been worth it.

His Buir had all but launched himself from his Throne, practically flying across the room, the force of his hug knocking the air out of Jango, checking his bruises and the thick marks on his neck from the collar and running his hands though his hair for bumps before pulling him in again.

“Oh ner ad. Oh Jan’ika. Gar su’cuyi. Gar nu kyr’adyc.” 

“Buir.” he allowed himself to clasp on tightly. He was safe, he was home.

The guards, who’d allowed him entry and heard the brief of his story, were tackling Montross, who was still gaping in surprise as he was hauled out of the room.

He was safe in his Buir’s arms and the  dar’manda being hauled away and for the first time in over a month, he let himself relax. There were hundreds of  Mando’ade between him and any of the slavers that might have escaped. His Buir stood between him and the darkness of the galaxy.

Something in him, some mental security measure he’d created, broke when he relaxed, and he slumped into his  Buir ’s hold, suddenly so exhausted he could barely hold himself. He didn’t notice his  Buir dismiss the council or call for a  baar’ur or lift him into his arms and carry him to his room.

He didn’t notice falling asleep either.

When he woke, he panicked a little, before he managed to realise the sheets and pillows were his own, that he was warm and safe, that the hand in his hair was no threat but comfort.

“Udesii. Udesii, ad’ika. Gar morut’yc.”

“ Buir ?”

“You’re ok, ad’ika.”

“I’m home?”

“Elek. Montross will be punished. I promise you. He told me you were dead, ad. He told me and I trusted him.”

“We both trusted him. He betrayed us.”

He was in his bed, he was safe, he was ok.

Well, he would be. The baar’ur had re-cleaned his injuries and declared him dangerously underweight. But he would recover, and he was home.

He would recover, he would retrain and join the war against the growing threat of Kyr’tsad.

His time with the Jetii who wasn’t at all like the ones in the songs faded from his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:  
> Mand'alor- soul ruler.  
> Buir-parent  
> shabuir- insult, bastard (ish)  
> Jetiise- Jedi (plural)  
> Shereshoy- lust for life  
> Mando'ade- child of mMndalore/ Mandalorian.  
> ad- child.  
> jet'iika- little Jedi.  
> adiik- child, 3-13  
> dar'vod- no longer sibling.  
> huut'un- coward (awful insult)  
> vod'ika- little brother  
> aliit- family/clan  
> Ka'ra- Stars/ ancient mythical ruling council.  
> Ob'ika- little Obi-Wan.  
> Ad'ika- young child  
> Ad'be'Alor- Prince/child of the soul ruler  
> ori’ramikad- super commando  
> Oh ner ad. Oh Jan’ika. Gar su’cuyi. Gar nu kyr’adyc. Oh, my child, Oh little Jango, you’re still alive. You're not dead.  
> Baar'ur- Doctor  
> Udesii. Udesii, ad’ika. Gar morut’yc.- calm, calm, little one, you're safe.  
> Elek- yes  
> Kyr-stad- Death Watch
> 
>   
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey if anyone wants to chat or say more than the comments or anything.  
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.  
> Please R+R.


	2. Second Meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, here we go.  
> I don't own.  
> Please enjoy, I'm flattered by the response this has received so far.

The second time they met was nothing more than chance. 

Obi-Wan, 15 and finally about to be cleared for new missions after the horror that was his eight months on Melida/Daan. 

Jango, 16 and following a lead on Kyr’tsad’s mysterious partner, stepping away from his Buir for the afternoon just to see the city. 

There was no reason for them both to be in a diner in CoCo town at the same time, nor was there much reason for them to recognise each other after a year, but both occurred. 

. 

Jango noticed Obi-Wan before Obi-Wan noticed him, he was already seated in a booth when the Jetii walked in, buy’ce off, sipping some caf. 

“Dex honey, Jedi by the door.” 

Dex's face had been almost comedic as it went from ‘oh no’ to ‘oh you’. 

“Obi-Wan, welcome, welcome.” 

He followed Dex to the Jetii, who’d barely piqued his interest until Dex had called him Obi-Wan, because how many Jetiise had that name? 

His conformation came when Dex released the Jetii from a crushing embrace that had lifted him off the ground. 

He had aged noticeably, Jango noted, and was back to a healthy weight with his hair grown out and that stupid Jetii braid hung down to his shoulder, decorated with several bands and beads. 

Oh and the robes, the stupid and not at all protective robes they all wore. 

But it was Obi-Wan. 

His friend Obi-Wan. 

Impulsive as it was, he leant out and waved before FLO could seat him. As he was doing it, he remembered all the risks in a Mandalorian waving at a Jetii, even if they’d been friends once. Obi-Wan clearly recognised him and, to his surprised joy, smiled and joined him in his booth, accompanied by Dex’s judgemental gaze. 

A Mandalorian and a Jedi, his wariness was reasonable. 

“Jango, it’s been a long time.” 

“Too long. I only realised I didn’t have your comm once you were gone.” 

“I was worried when you didn’t show up on any of the lists of freed slaves.” 

“Lek, I slipped away. There was a port nearby and I knew my people would be able to give me a lift home. I mean no offense, but...” 

“No, I get it. I do. As much as you might have befriended me, you had no reason to trust the rest of my people, just as I wouldn’t necessarily trust yours.” 

“I... I'm still sorry if I worried you.” 

Obi-Wan smiled again at that, huffing out a small laugh, but any response he had was cut off by FLO returning with some tea he hadn’t known was even on the menu, and rather suspected wasn’t. Dex was still watching them. 

“What brings you to Coruscant?” 

“Work for my clan. The group that captured me when we met, they’re a terrorist faction at war with people, the Haat Mando’ade. We need to stop them and for that we need leads. There should be some here on Coruscant.” 

“Ah. Is that what you’ve been doing since you got back? You said you were a... ori’ra... a supercommando. What’s that like?” 

“I’ll tell you if you tell me what being a Jetii is like?” 

“Deal.” 

It had taken him all of about 30 seconds to realise Obi-Wan didn’t know he was Alor’ad, and about three to realise he wasn’t going to tell him. No ranks, just friends. 

He divulged the story of his return and his Buir’s reaction, although slightly edited, and some of the missions they’d run since. 

In return Obi-Wan told him all sorts of stories of his own. Political messes, life in their Temple, stories about the Creche clan he’d mentioned the last time they’d met. 

Unlike in his culture, padawans were not adults. 13 was their age to be allowed out on missions, and the maximum age of adoption, but Knighting was the equivalent of reaching adulthood, or at least the freedom of it and he might be in his 20’s before he got that. Although apparently being a senior padawan, because it turned out there were grades for that too, granted them a lot more freedom. 

The idea that adulthood and milestones like that were more often determined by skill and test than simply reaching an age whether you’re ready for those responsibilities or not... 

It was fascinating. 

Obi-Wan also told him of a mission to a war-torn planet. One whose cause he’d been willing to leave his Order for. His entire people. It was everything he would have expected of the boy he’d met on Bandomeer. Fire and spirit commanded to protect those in need. 

The decision by his people though, that infuriated him, and was what he would have expected of Jetiise based on the stories he’d been raised on. So were his people right, with Obi-Wan being the anomaly, or were most Jetii like Obi-Wan, and this just some horrid mistake. 

The thought was a painful reminder that their people hated each other, even if they had a tentative ceasefire and peace. That they might be able to think past the prejudices of their people but that if they hadn’t been so young when they had met the first time, nor so desperate, they would be enemies now. 

They were the anomaly. 

Not that it mattered in this Diner, then again who knew who might be watching. 

This time when they separated, they each had a new comm code. 

. 

. 

. 

Jango returned from Coruscant with a single lead, and it did not lead as far as they would have hoped. But it had led to something perhaps more useful. 

Proof that Death Watch were working with someone inside the Republic to destabilise Mandalore, and that these same people had contacts in the New Mandalorians too. Attempts to cause strife within the peaceful areas where the Civil War didn’t reach. 

Despite these infiltrators and with this evidence in hand, they rallied together. 

For the first time in Centuries, almost all of the Mandalore System united behind a Mand’alor. 

All the Haat Mando’ade Clans were loyal, as well as many escapees from New Mandalorian and Kyr’tsad clans who didn’t agree with their own aliit. 

Sure, there was infighting. The New Mandalorians dislike of weapons and violence did not diminish because they were threatened, clan rivalries hadn’t just vanished, but leaders off all the clans or provinces or houses were on his Buir’s council. They came to compromises, at least until Death Watch were destroyed. 

Jango had maintained no doubts that once the fighting was over, the New Mandalorians would go back to trying to remove their armour and the Supercommando Codex and all the other things the True Mandalorians held in highest cultural regard. It wasn’t as though the Haat Mando’ade were going to force these pacifists to fight, all they asked was that they be allowed to keep their culture and traditions. 

In the face of a strong and united Mandalore, Kyr'tsad went quiet. There were still small attacks, ambushes on transports, planets held by clans loyal to it that refused to leave, but most Mando’ade could relax. It was not all-out war, just skirmishes. 

To his surprise, they came to compromises in the peacetime too. The New Mandalorians wanted to be able to start more trades with the Republic and promote peace and charity, but they also finally conceded that the Haat Mando’ade were needed, that slavery and terrorists could not necessarily be fought with words alone. 

They still crammed themselves into Sundari and occupied most, if not all, of Kalevala, but they weren’t trying to force people in Keldabe to follow all their new rules or trying to enforce their cultural genocide outside of Sundari. They could manage a city of New Mando’s and a few on the Council, if it meant they weren’t trying to destroy everything. 

That would likely change over time, but until it did, or Kyr’tsad came back, they were united. 

Jango was 25 the first time they worked together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kry’stad- death watch  
> Jetii- jedi  
> Buy'ec- helmet  
> Jetiise- jedi plural  
> Haat mando’ade- true mandalorians  
> Alor’ad- prince. Child of the soul ruler.  
> Mand’alor- soul ruler  
> Aliit- family 
> 
> Obi-Wan didn’t call Jango for help on Melida-Daan for several reasons.  
> One) he’d only met Jango once, and had no idea if he could trust the Mandalorians or not, or whether they’d actually come on the request of a jedi.  
> Two) Melida-Daan is a Republic planet, and the Young were labelled an insurgency. Mandalorians coming to Melida-Daan and attacking what was officially and legally the governing party would have been an act of War, and he didn’t want to drag the Mandalorians into that. Also, he’d been paying attention to the news enough to know they were at War with Death Watch and having their own issues. Even if Galidraan didn’t happen, they hardly had the manpower, in Obi-Wan's opinion, to spare on them or start a war with the Republic. 
> 
> Next chapter we get some Obi-Wan. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey if you want to chat, or have questions or thoughts beyond comments etc.  
> Please R+R.


	3. Growing up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally get some Obi-Wan.  
> I don't own.  
> Please enjoy.

Leaving Bandomeer had been such a powerful mix of relief and horror and confusion and a million other emotions, that half way back to the Temple he’d just dropped.

He'd woken in the Halls of Healing under the watchful care of Healer Knight Che, his report for the Council delayed by over a week even then.

And a braid in his hair.

A padawanship oath to take.

He was a Jedi.

He would be a knight.

The month with the Mando who was not evil at all never left his mind, but he found himself with less and less time to focus on it.

And then Melida/Daan.

He'd have thought the chaos and disaster and ruin of the war would drive thoughts of his once friend further from his mind but not so. His time with Jango had been born of a hell where he’d had no-one to rely on, and no Jedi. He was alone and Orderless once again, and he longed for a friend like Jango.

It wasn’t that he had no friends, there was Cerasi and Nield and a whole host of others, but it wasn’t the same. This was their world, their war, he was just an outsider. On Bandomeer, he and Jango had both been outsiders, both been alone and separated from their homes and families.

Jango had seemed to understand the pain he’d felt, that he could feel every death and the pain inflicted on every person in that mine. Had held him close and acted like a shield, lighting up their cell and keeping the darkness out. 

There was no-one keeping the darkness at bay  on Melida/Daan . 

Every death, every injury, every flash of fear or anger or pain, and there was so much darkness.

And then the light returned, his call for help finally answered.

He was a Jedi again.

He spent an even longer time in the healing halls after that one, and was grounded in the Temple with mind healers for months. They praised his commitment to the light, that he hadn’t fallen or even come close, but he could feel their worry. Something had unnerved them, and he wondered how close he must have come to falling at some point to make them watch him with the curiosity they did.

Still, if he hadn’t been grounded, he wouldn’t have reunited with Jango.

And  oh, if the Force didn’t sing when he walked into Dex’s that day.

Even with Jango’s comm code in hand, the Force seemed to protest their parting. He had the sudden and powerful feeling their lives would become deeply entwined as they grew older.

He couldn’t wait.

Obi-Wan was sent to mission after mission, political negotiation, hostage rescue, corruption investigation. 

Qui-Gon was a good master, for all that they clashed occasionally. They had suffered a rocky start to his apprenticeship, but it had grown into that of parent and child with ease. His master cared for his greatly, but Obi-Wan knew well enough that the scars of  Xanatos ’ betrayal had not yet healed, and that they cast more of a shadow than either of them wanted. Qui-Gon feared the threat the darkness was to Obi-Wan, and the start of his  padawanship had perhaps not helped at all, being stolen and enslaved by a  darksider , and then to follow the Force with passion away from the Order on  Melida /Daan.

They clashed, they had their arguments, but that did not diminish that more often than not, far more often than not, their bond was close. The calmness of sitting and sharing tea, the praise and pride that came with a success in his lessons or on his missions, the paternal worry when he contracted  Bantha Flu. His Master loved him like a son, and worried for him in the same sense, dangerous as it was.

He managed to convince his master that he should master  Soresu instead of Ataru, citing multiple visions and using the recommendations of his duelling instructors as a convincing argument. His master may not have put much stock into the visions, but even he couldn’t argue that Obi-Wan should be practicing a form that simply was not for him. The acrobatics just did not suit him, and the idea of a form both aggressive and focused on single opponent combat filled him with a foreboding sense or nausea. 

The compromise was that he would also study Shien and Djem So, and master one of those as well, depending on which suited him better. The Force chose a Jedi’s fighting form, based it on the Jedi’s soul and future path. He would not need Ataru, and so he would always be just a little too slow to block, just slightly underpowered in a blow. A Jedi was never useless in a form they learnt, but if it was not theirs to learn, they would never be enough.

By 17 he was a Senior Padawan and knew it was Shein, the Perseverance Form, that suited him alongside Soresu, the Endurance form.

Forms designed for a Jedi being fire upon, outnumbered and alone. Forms that relied on outlasting, on surviving. 

Endurance and perseverance.

Unburdened by arrogance but strengthened with a confidence born of learning and experience combined he grew into himself quickly.

Fighting was not all he learned.

He studied languages and politics, amused Master Nu every time he lost track of the time in the archives, researching whatever it was he was focusing on that day. It did not take long for her to note his drive and dedication, nor his respect of the Archives, and soon she was offering him not only the sources he requested but others that might suit him. She offered him trust most padawans were not afforded.

He befriended politicians, went after slavers, learned every extra skill he could.

Amused Quinlan to no end with one antic or another. 

Jango turned up on Coruscant again and again, at least three or four times a year from just after his 16 th birthday, and somehow Obi-Wan doubted it was business alone. He hoped it was for more than business.

It didn’t feel like business when Jango snuck him into Little Keldabe for Tiingilar and other Mandalorian foods, showing him all he could about his culture and asking question after question about how it compared to the Jedi culture. When Jango corrected his Mando’a with a soft grin or the bright feeling that came with the passion he held for his culture.

Obi-Wan adored the spicy food, even if his reaction disappointed Jango in how little he reacted. What could he say, he loved spice, and the burning in his mouth was not quite bad enough to be painful. Painful had been the mix of spices he’d added to ration bars on Melida/Dann to give them taste before he’d found a balance.

Jango had laughed when he’s said as such, before passing him something else to try. 

And the smug look on  Jango’s face when Obi-Wan expressed his love of Shig, the Mandalorian answer to tea. 

The little packets of  shig that made their way to his rooms every month, hidden in boxes of  sapir and jasmine teas ordered to his rooms in his name. Explaining why these boxes showed up once a month to his Master hadn’t been as much of a challenge as he’d worried, as long as his Master was getting some of the aged Sapir each month.

Over time he made quite a few friends in the Mandalorian settlement, getting the comm numbers of several  Mando’ade , often invited to come drinking once he was old enough, or for a meal if it was for a large community, or to birthday parties. He wasn’t sure how many of them, if any, knew he was a Jedi, but if they did, they didn’t appear to care. 

Just in case, and more than anything to guard from word making it out of Little  Keldabe and into the Temple, he went by Ben. He was pretty sure most of them, if not all of them, knew Ben was a pseudonym, but that they understood his need for discretion. They knew his Buir was not fond at all of Mando’ade, and whether they knew he was a Jedi, or believed he was just upper class Coruscanti, which was the rumour that had spread, they understood his need not to be revealed.

He drank several of them under the table on his 20 th birthday, revelling in the atmosphere created by the party they’d chosen to throw for him, masterminded by  Jango . He had far more friends after that.

In something of an emerging pattern, he spent his 21 st birthday getting the drunkest he’d ever been with his creche mates. He'd actually run into one of the  Mando’ade he’d known pretty well in one of the bars, Kenza Keel, House  Delstee , a  Twi ’lek warrior whose  twi n worked alongside the  Mand’alor , but she’d recognised he was with friends and he knew they were well aware his family didn’t know about his ventures into Little  Keldabe . She had bumped his shoulder on the dance floor and wished him a happy birthday, and the next time he’d returned to their table there had been a drink for him. 

Bant had refused to treat them the next morning for their hangovers, except Lumi for some reason, and he wondered if she was breaking her Healers Oath by refusing them treatment. 

‘Body, soul, mind; heal, protect, guide.’ 

Surely that meant healing hangovers as well.

She'd laughed at him and walked away when he’d asked, so maybe not.

Still, for all that he had friends, skills, successes, a home... he couldn’t shake the feeling something was coming.

Jango listened to him every time he said as such, talked about the underworld dealings he’d observed and whether they might be why, promised to listen out for anything major.

Trusted his visions and feelings more than his ‘mind in the present, living force not the cosmic’ Master.

His Master who attributed his worries and dark feelings as an inability to purge the darkness of his own emotions and nightmares from his soul. That it came from within, and not the wider Cosmic Force. He understood his Master worried about him, worried about the darkness taking him the way it had Xanatos, but he wished his Master would trust him more. All those lectures about minding his anxieties and yet his Master seemed unable to do the same.

And when he commed Jango with warnings related to him, it was a breath of fresh air to be believed, rather than dismissed. Especially when Jango had responded by jokingly asking whether Obi-Wan dreamed about him often, causing him to blush furiously and thank the Force it had been an audio only comm, and that Jango hadn’t seen.

Master Jinn could never find out about his  comming a Mandalorian, he decided, not when he barely accepted his oh so heinous friendship with Quin and would  rather he spent all his time with some of his other, more sensible, more clearly light-sided friends, like Lumi or Bant. What he had with Jango, the way the Force felt when they were close, how settled he felt when they talked, he couldn’t explain it.

But he couldn’t see how it could ever be bad.

So he kept working, kept training and learning, extra modules in all areas, missions all over the galaxy, (never as close to Mandalore as he would have wanted) and soon, soon he’d be submitted for his trials.

Once he was a Knight he could go all over, spend more time with his friend than when their paths happened to cross or, more often, when Jango was on Coruscant.

Then came the mission to Naboo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Tingilar- spicy mandalorian stew  
> Mando’a- mandalorian language  
> Shig- mandalorian version of tea 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> I have far to much information on some of my side character Mandalorian OC's who will not feature much, haha. That and random lore thats an artisanal blend of canon, Fanon and personal headcanon.  
> Please R+R.


	4. Naboo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahha, next update.  
> I don't own.  
> Please enjoy.

He'd felt the probing pushes of the Darkness long before they’d made planetfall. Before the assassination attempt on the Trade Federation ship. Felt it like a cool breeze rippling across his shields. Like a tide trying to draw him out.

But of course his Master, in his resolute determination to keep Obi-Wan from falling into the Dark, had ignored it.

Put it down to his own anxieties, his own fears. Reminded him not to let himself be overrun by the darkness that his master always feared was attempting to wrap itself around Obi-Wan's soul.

He loved his Master like a father, and he knew his master loved him like a son. For all that they argued, especially over his affinity for the Cosmic Force rather than the Living, they were close. He reminded himself once again that for every time they clashed, there were 100 wherein his Master would laugh and call him imp or little one, where their relationship was as close as any other, maybe closer. He knew his Master was proud of what he’d accomplished, that he wanted Obi-Wan to succeed as a Jedi. Some would probably go as far as to call it attachment.

But that was the problem.

His Master loved him, dearly, and after losing Xanatos, his brother, who he’d loved just as dearly...

Obi-Wan had dealt with more than a few families over the years grieving the loss of a child. He understood his Masters grief, and his worry, but it caused more clashes than he knew either of them liked. 

And it didn’t change that the dark feeling followed him, nor did it change Qui-Gon's beliefs.

All across Naboo, with the  Gungun's in their city , freeing the Queen and her Handmaidens, taking back the ship.

Getting shot and being forced down onto Tatooine.

He had to hide a laugh as the Queen strongarmed her way onto Master Jinn’s excursion, especially seeing as his Master still clearly believed she was a handmaiden. Honestly, didn’t he read the briefing, this was Naboo, they were the experts on subterfuge. Bodyguards first, handmaidens second, decoys when needed. Did he not think it weird that they all looked alike?

It was very easy to work out when you used your feelings.

His Master had been steadfast in ignoring  Obi-Wan's feelings.

Right up until the Sith had arrived.

Then it stopped being dismissal and became judgement, which, combined with the arrival of little Ani, spelt poorly for him.

Not that it was little Ani’s fault. No, that sweet boy was a little sun in the Force. He'd been blinding at first, but as soon as Obi-Wan had managed to get him talking about and subsequently working on some tech, it had fallen into a duller mediative state. Ani had opened up pretty quickly once Obi-Wan had shown interest in what he liked, and shown him to the food, and when Ani had told him his mother was still a slave, he’d resolved then and there , that she would be free. One way or another. 

So, when his Master practically disowned him in front of the Council for Ani, claiming he was ready for his trials without warning, he schooled his emotions, released all the mixed feelings that had started circling rapidly through him. He had seen something like this coming, Anakin was special, and Qui-Gon's interest scarily unsurprising. For all that he disliked the Cosmic Force and Obi-Wan's visions, he took a great interest in prophecies. 

Chosen One or not, he was entirely correct to say that Anakin deserved to be trained, and that he was powerful enough that if that thing was a Sith, and he was sure it was, he’d be Sith-bait. Someone that powerful needed protection, and someone that young and bright, who’d been through so much already, deserved a kind home.

He'd overheard many Masters claim Qui-Gon had been delaying Obi- Wan's trials because of his attachment to him, and that Obi-Wan was more than ready, so for that he did not fear, and Anakin was too young to be a padawan anyway, so despite the turmoil it raised in the minute, he knew in the long run it would pass and settle. His Master was impulsive, followed the Force without always thinking things through. His claim before the Council did not say he would not see Obi-Wan knighted, just that he felt Obi-Wan was ready and Anakin needed to be trained. That did not diminish the offence of the statements or what had happened, nor did the logic or reasoning take away that they would need to discuss it.

Once this mission was over, they would settle their disagreement, as they always did.

He wished Anakin had stayed behind when they returned to Naboo, especially when, as they approached Theed, something dark and foul tried to force its way through his shields.

His Master felt nothing, so he assumed it was trying to separate him from his Master before the fight began.

But it failed,  and Obi-Wan  knew it was in there.

Waiting.

The  Zabrak , the Sith, washed darkness over them as they fought their way through the generator levels, but his shields held strong and he pushed forwards, unwilling to let it get either of them alone.

His specialised in  Soresu and Shien for a reason, and finally it felt as though it was paying off. Even after a few minutes the brutal fight was taking its toll on his Master, and his Master’s acrobatic and energy-wasting Ataru and he was beginning to flag. Obi-Wan had to make up for it, because his strength was that he could outlast, he had the reserves of energy for a long fight, but his Master might not last a long fight, so they needed to end it.

The Sith was trying to separate them, and somewhat managed it, in the ray shielded  corridor , but  neither of them was alone with it, so they still had a chance.

He took a second to check his energy, drawing a little into himself from around him to bolster the little energy he’d lost, trapped between the ray shields, his Master only one shield away from the Sith.

He had to make it. His Master could not be left alone with it.

He felt the shield singe his robes as they closed behind him, sealing the three of them in the chamber, duel beginning afresh, but the dark waves of the Sith were weakening his Master. He could feel it, could feel the way the Sith was sapping his strength. He could only conclude that the Sith was not doing the same to him this time was because he did not think Obi-Wan was worth the effort when he was not the  primary threat. After all he was only a Padawan.

It would be efficient to take him out before the fight started, but once they were engaged, he needed to focus on the Master. It made sense.

They clashed around the hole in the floor, all three wary of the danger the drop represented. The longer the fight went on, the harder the fight became. Feeding off the darkness and struggle, the Sith did not seem to be  waning in  strength , but their efforts were weakening his master slowly but surely.

Sighting a hole in his Master’s defence that would be otherwise fatal, he threw himself forwards, catching the blade before it could strike the killing blow, saving his Master but not considering the second side of the  lightstaff for himself. A blinding pain flying across his front, accompanied by the hard floor and then the feeling of falling.

It was the will of the Force alone that his hand caught a small protrusion, but his sabre slipped from his grasp, and he felt as the crystal was lost to the abyss below.

Agony. 

It lit his face and his chest screamed at him. The world spun. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel properly. His senses were clogged by the pain. Acting on instinct alone, and the ideas of the training of his youth, he retreated into the Force, closing off all of his senses but the Force and drawing on the reserves of energy years of  Soresu had built into him. Above him light and dark danged around each other, hope and pain clashing in sparks.

He had to help.

Pain thrust itself past Hope deep into the Light and the Force surged though him, bolstering itself into his every muscle and cell.

He was so deep in the Force by the time his feet touched the metal of the floor, he could not feel it, summoning Hope to his grasp. If he were of the Living Force it would have guided him, his every strike and move. But he was of the Cosmic, and so it did not guide him but allow him the numbness he needed to fight. He was still in control, and while the Force did the barest to guide him, it numbed him from the pain that might otherwise distract him in a fight, that would otherwise have limited his movement, because if he could not feel it, his body would not stop him. It lent him extra strength that his body had lost in the fight so far and as he focused in, it allowed him glimpses of where the Sith would strike and so how to defend and attack to create the shortest fight he could.

_ Thank you, you have freed me. _

And then the darkness around them began to dissipate. The world returned to him, no longer lines and patterns of energy and emotion but colours and shapes and oh...

He dropped to his knees as the strength left and pain returned, gasping.

In front of him lay the Sith, eyes open in death, looking oh so young and oh so at peace. He reached out and closed the boy’s eyes, mourning the life lost. He did not choose this, the Force sang, he was a slave to the real Evil. As much a victim as those he’s struck down.

He remembered the collar around his neck, the sick yellow in Xanatos’ eyes, the pain surrounding him in that hellhole. This could have been him.

_ Not you _ , the Force whispered.

A groan broke his mournful thoughts.

Master Jinn.

He was still alive.

“Master!”

“Pada...wan.”

Obi-Wan dropped to his knees at his Master’s side, seeing the deep wound he had thought to have been fatal in his side.

His Master’s eyes went wide at something, but he did not waste time wondering what, pressing his hands to the wound and calling the light back to him, the way he had in the fight.

“No... Obi... not me.” 

The hands trying to remove his own were not strong enough to stop him, and he funnelled energy from the world around them into it, numbing himself once again as he worked. His reserves were running out, but the Force was humming around him, letting him draw it into him as a conduit for what he wanted to do.

“N... no. Not... not worth... falling.”

He wasn’t going to fall. This energy was all Light. 

All of it.

“Not worth... your light. Not for me, little one. Ani... needs someone.”

If he’d had the focus to reply he’d have told his Master that Ani would have the Jedi, but he did not. His Master would not die this day.

Once he was sure the man had enough energy to sustain him to the  healer's hands, he hauled them both to their feet and began the struggle back. At some point his Master had passed out again, but he was tethered to life.

“Master Jedi?”

Padmé. She was safe, and he could feel around them that things were at peace. That they’d won.

“The Sith is dead. Master Jinn is need of medical assistance.”

“As are you. You’re  bleeding! ”

“Indeed.”

And then the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops?  
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.  
> No, Mando'a in this chapter.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> Please R+R.


	5. The Aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter is here, the aftermath arrives.  
> I don't own.  
> I hope you enjoy.

The Council Masters arrived three days later. He greeted them on arrival, despite having only woken a few hours before, despite half his face and upper torso being encompassed in bandages still. 

Masters Yoda, Windu, Che and Koon. 

Master Che had left immediately for Master Jinn, but the others had wanted answers. 

He told them everything he could. 

Master Yoda left for Qui-Gon's bedside, and Master Windu for Padmé and Anakin, but to his surprise, after a quick journey to see the body of the Sith and check in with Master Windu, Master Plo returned to him. He would have thought Master Plo would have gone to find Anakin, given his affinity for helping younglings, but the Master stayed by his side, sending waves of calm and comfort though the Force towards him. 

“Your actions were commendable, Padawan.” 

“I did only as the Force guided.” 

“Just because that is true does not mean that your actions were not commendable. Your injuries, has Healer Che seen to them yet?” 

“No, Master, but the Naboo Doctor who saw to it is certain the wound did no permanent damage to my jaw or eye. Once the swelling has gone down, it should regain its sight. The chest wound again did no irreparable damage to my ribs or internals, and should heal up just fine. Master Jinn needs Healer Che far more than I do. But, bacta or no, it will scar, from my forehead to the bottom of my ribs.” 

“You have done well. I fear that it may not have been as long as my colleagues believe since a Jedi fought a Sith, but I do believe it has been a long time since any Jedi has won against a Sith.” 

“He was a child, Master. My age. I felt his pain and his fear, and when he passed, his peace. He was a slave, not a being of malice. In another time he could have been one of us, or any of us like him.” 

“It is a worrying thought. But he is One with the Force, you have freed him from the bonds the Sith kept him in. We will find the Sith Master. This boy will have justice.” 

The hand on his shoulder was a powerful reassurance, and Master Plo’s compassion was evident, even for someone that should be an enemy. 

“And Anakin. I think he should be a Jedi, but not a padawan straight away. He needs to settle in, he needs to be able to choose it. He was a Slave, Master Plo, if he is not taught better, he will simply see this as another Master, another enslavement.” 

“We will account for it, Padawan Kenobi. I assure you. We have talked it over, and believe he will do well in an initiate clan for a while to make some friends. If Master Jinn wants to take him on, or if any Master wants to, and there is every chance there will be many, they’ll have to wait for him to turn 11 like all initiates.” 

“Thank you, Master.” 

It was another few days, before they returned to the Temple. 

Anakin buzzed at the idea of being a Jedi and making friends, and his nerves at meeting Creche Master Akchaarrka of the Dragon Clan were clear to everyone nearby. A Wookiee was pretty intimidating to someone who’d never met one before, but he was a wonderful Creche master. His nerves faded quickly as they welcomed him in, leaving Obi-Wan with few fears for Anakin’s future and far more room for the fears for his own. 

And weeks of investigation, time with healers, a trip to Illum. 

Finally, he was summoned to the Council Chambers for what looked to be the final session on this mission specifically. 

It was here he bowed his deepest honour as, three weeks after the crisis, still wrapped in bacta bandages and with full approval from the Council, Master Windu cut his braid. It took everything he had to stop his hands from shaking as he accepted it. 

He was a Knight. 

He knew it should have been Master Jinn cutting his braid, honouring his achievement, but Master Jinn... 

Even as exhausted and weak as he was, he could have easily cut the braid from his bed in the Healing Halls, but he’d refused. He wouldn’t say why, at least not to Obi-Wan, and if the Councillors knew, they weren’t sharing. He'd barely managed one conversation with the man, and had been barred from his room, their bond blocked just as tightly. 

He could guess why. 

Padawan's don’t defeat Sith. 

Padawan's don’t have the strength to heal wounds. 

Padawans don’t shake off and push through darkness as he had. 

Padawans can’t summon the energy the way he had. 

His Master thought him a failure, like Xanatos, fallen into the darkness. 

His Master had done everything to try to keep him from the darkness, and now it seemed he had decided he had fallen despite the Council testing and confirming he was still Light. Without being willing to look. He'd spent his entire apprenticeship in the shadow of his fallen brother padawan, and it seemed it would haunt him into his Knighthood. 

. 

. 

. 

If there was one good thing about the Council it was that they moved fast when they needed to and by the time Master Jinn was released to go back into his own apartment, Obi-Wan had rooms of his own, in the Knights area, on the other side of the Temple. 

The rooms were barren, and he’d need to fill them with more than the few boxes of clothes and datapads he owned, but they were his. 

Oh, and the box of teas he’d found waiting in his old rooms. 

He slumped into the bed, now his bed, with a borrowed teacup filled with shig and pulled out his comm. 

Jango. 

He typically commed Jango every 10-day. Their last comm had been 8 days before they set off for Naboo the first time, and he’d marked his leaving with a short, written message to tell Jango he was going on a diplomatic mission to Naboo and that he would likely miss their next scheduled check in. 

He'd missed 3 now. 

Force, he missed his friend. 

Jango picked up by the end of the first ring, relief lighting up his features. 

“Obi, Ka’ra, su cuy’gar.” 

“Su’cuy Jango. I... this was a hectic one.” 

“Are you alright? Your face! What happened?” 

His hand flew to the bacta strips across the side of his face, hopefully the last ones, brushing the wound gently, his voice soft as he reassured his friend of his safety. 

“I’m fine. I'm fine. I'm... there's no permanent damage. I've been back at the Temple for a few weeks now, but I've been so busy, and everything was up in the air for a while. I'm sorry I didn’t call sooner. My comms were restricted for a while. But it’s ok now, I'm safe, I'm fine.” 

“I’m assuming this has something to do with the missing braid?” 

He couldn’t help but add a coy smile to his response. 

“Lek. I am officially a Knight.” 

It was so refreshing to be able to talk with Jango again, like a breath of fresh air in the Force. 

“You never said you were doing your Trials. I'd have wished you luck.” 

“There’s no such thing. And I wasn’t supposed to be doing them, it was supposed to be a short diplomatic negotiation. Like I said, the mission was a hectic one.” 

“Classified?” 

“Always. But I know you.” 

He had no doubt Jango would use his contacts to have all the information there was on the Naboo Crisis by the end of the day, if he hadn’t looked at it already. 

“Well congratulations, and thank the Ka’ra you’re finally rid of the di’kutla braid.” 

“Hey.” 

“I’ll take you out for a drink next time I'm on Coruscant, or next time we’re in the same system, at least.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

“But really, Obi, are you alright?” 

He understood Jango’s meaning completely. It was the same meaning that Quin or Bant had, but even still they looked at him as though something was wrong, off, even when they tried to hide it. What had happened to him was just unnerving enough that they couldn’t help it. But Jango didn’t know, Jango’s concern was just concern, and his every shield seemed to want to drop around the Mando. 

“Could you talk for me? Just... about anything. Please?” 

“Of course. Let's see... Silas got a new Strill pup the other day, he’s called it Ba’yair.” 

“Chew?” 

“It’s a pup and won’t stop trying to eat part of his armour. Can't wait until it’s old enough to actually dent it, especially when it leaps up on him. Strills are astonishing creatures though, Obi-Wan, beautiful and they are actually really talented at...” 

He let his eyes close and the words washed over him like a balm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Ka’ra, su cuy’gar- Stars, you’re still alive. Hello, but in this sense also met literally.  
> Su’cuy- hi.  
> Ka'ra- stars, mythical council of elders.  
> Di'kutla- idiotic  
> Ba’yair- chew. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> I'm sorry, ish, the angst is beginning, mistakes are being made. Qui-Gon loves his kid, but boy oh boy is he going to be stupid about it.  
> Please R+R.


	6. Moving forwards...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter...  
> I don't own.  
> Please enjoy.

Obi-Wan loved his new rooms. They were small, and simple, a main living area with two seats, a low table and a kitchenette through an open archway. It was technically two rooms, with a thin bookshelf on either side of the three-pointed archway slotting between the wall and the opening, but open enough to feel like one. On the other side of the living area were two doors, his room and the fresher. His room itself was very simple, a bed, a wardrobe, a desk and a shelf in the wall the bed was against that acted as a bedside table. It was similar to his quarters when he’d been a padawan, but downsized massively. Opposite the front door of his room was a large window that opened outwards, with a window box he’d quickly taken to filling. 

He lay his meditation mat in front of the window, added his River Stone to the shelves along with several books, paper books, that he owned, as well as datapads. He added a few other small plants, mostly succulents, from his old quarters. 

Still on medical leave, what he was allowed to do was restricted, but gradually expanding. His Soul Healer had signed him up for creche duties, only a few hours every other day, but Obi-Wan had to admit it did wonders. Sparing was off the table, as were katas, but basic stretches and some targeted strength exercises were mandated. 

He left the Temple, for the first time in weeks and with his Healer’s permissions (all three of them), to find some other comforts and necessities he might want or need, credits from his new Knight allowance in pocket. 

His first trip had found him his new teapot and teacups, some more unique cooking equipment that he hadn’t wanted to get from the Temples own stores and some new clothes that were not robes. 

His second trip a few days later were for other necessities, and so he headed for Little Keldabe. He wanted Shig, behot, spices for Tiingilar, a few knick-knacks for his bare shelves. Nowadays, even without Jango, everyone recognised him and asked after him. It was hardly the first time he’d ventured into their community without Jango, and he’d made a good many friends over the years. He knew their eyes focused on the new scar, even if they were wearing their buy’ce, questions on the tips of their tongues, but they were far too polite to ask. Warriors had scars; they didn't typically ask for details unless they were freely given. Especially not when they were clearly so fresh. 

Those who asked, instead asked how his studies and home life were going and what he’d been up to since the last time they’d seen him. 

Most of them didn’t know he was a Jedi, and it was a somewhat unspoken rule that if they did, they didn’t say anything. Almost every time they’d met him for the first few years, he'd been with their Ad’be’Alor, which bought him a lot of trust to start with. Now they knew him, he was part of the clan, and trustworthy, even with his fake name. 

Ad'be’Alor, Obi-Wan was still a little salty as to how long Jango had kept that piece of information hidden, although Jango’s reaction to his flat reaction had lessened the bitterness greatly. He had reacted, just not around his friend. He'd waited until he was safely in his own room then promptly freaked out. Jedi were very good at internalising things until it was safe to scream into the Force, after all. 

A Jedi and the heir to the Mandalorian throne: Friends! 

That was either going to end centuries of conflict or kick off centuries more. He could feel it. 

Another thing he wanted to get was a knife. A kal, to be exact, a melee blade of beskar to be used in the off hand, a hexagonal with a rectangle cut out in the centre. Usually, it would be used with a Beskad, but a lightsabre would work just as well. 

Outsides were almost never allowed Beskar in any form, but Jango had called it a late birthday gift for his 24th birthday, and Goran Delstee, who had worked out he was a Jedi before his 17th birthday, and after a thorough grilling, decided she did not care at all, approved of him enough to forge it. The Armourer had messaged him ages ago to tell him it was ready, but with Naboo, he hadn’t found time to receive it yet. 

Goran Loree Delstee was the Chief Goran in Little Keldabe, not because Clan Delstee was the Clan that ran Little Keldabe and the daughter of their clan chief, no, they prized skill above family every time, but for her incredible skills. She was one of the Mando’ade he knew the best in the years he’d been visiting to their community, and one of the few who knew the whole truth about him. She was half-human, half-Pantoran, with blue and cream patched skin, naturally purple hair with one brown eye and one yellow, built like an Armourer, unsurprisingly, with several tattoos and scars. Similarly, her armour was blue with purple and black accents as well as Jaig eyes on her buy’ce and several stylised flame patterns on her arms and chest plates. 

She was waiting for him with a disapproving tilt of her head, leading him into the otherwise empty forges and closing the door behind them with an ‘on a lunch break’ sign. 

He'd sent a message ahead to say he was finally coming to pick it up, and she’d told him to bring his own lunch, likely meaning she wanted a chat. He'd picked something up from one of the market stalls on his way. 

“I distinctly remember telling you it would be ready for you to pick up in a week. What do you call this?” 

She put her buy’ce aside as she looked through her completed works for his new blade. 

“Ne ceta, Goran Delstee. My work took longer than expected, as did my recovery.” 

She frowned as she scanned the scar. 

“I think you need this,” she decided, handing him the blade and sheath, “it seems like you need all the protection you can get.” 

“Vor’e.” 

“Congratulations, by the way. I know enough about your people to know what the braid means. And losing it.” 

“Vor’e again.” he held up the shig, “I’m stocking my new apartment. Now I'm living alone, I don’t have to hide the shig within the other teas.” 

They both took seats at the table set up in the side room, opening their lunches. Immediately, the room was filled with the scent of spices and smoke. 

“So, what was your great trial, if I am allowed to ask? Negotiate a cease-fire? Catch a Slaver? Expose a corrupt official?” 

Goran Delstee was the Chief Armourer of all of Little Keldabe, and therefor held the knowledge of all the Mando'ade who lived there. She practically ran Little Keldabe, unofficially of course, and kept all of their stories. Everyone who came and went visited her to tell their tale. 

He was incredibly flattered that she found his story worth adding to her knowledge. 

She knew he was a Jedi, but she, like her predecessors, had lived and worked on Coruscant their whole lives, within a few miles of the Temple. Unlike many of the Mando’ade in the Mandalorian space, including those of her own clan, she knew well enough that the Jedi were not child snatchers or evil. Truthfully, he knew many of the Mando’ade in Little Keldabe were at the very least neutral to the Jedi, one of the perks of being so close to the Temple. 

She was also one of the few people who knew his real name. 

“It was supposed to be a trade negotiation based on a blockade, but then the people running the blockade decided to invade and enslave the planet. They also tried to kill us before we could even start negotiations, which was rather rude.” 

“You were on Naboo?” 

He nodded. She's undoubtedly seen Queen Amidala's speech to the Senate, after all the Chancellorship had been challenged and that affected everyone on Coruscant, especially a group whose people held dual citizenships in both the Republic and Mandalore System. 

“I’m guessing the rumour that there was a dar’jetii there is true?” she asked, eyeing the burn scar again. Lightsabre burns were unique, after all, and who would know them better than a weapons and lore master. Especially one who’s people had a whole armoury worth of anti-Jedi techniques and weapons. 

“Indeed, although I am sure you can understand why discretion is being asked of everyone who knows?” 

“Of course. Do my people need to worry about this dar’jetii?” 

“No, he’s dead, I killed him. But he was line of Bane, we believe, which means there was another. I imagine they are more of a threat to my people than yours, but...” 

“But there is no harm in keeping an ear out. Vor’e.” 

“I doubt they’ll make any large moves so soon after this defeat.” 

“You passed into adulthood through a trial of Combat, then?” 

“I did. It's rare for someone to be Knighted for Combat trials nowadays, but it still happens.” 

“While I've got you here in the Forge, why don’t you apply for Beskar’gam?” 

She wasn’t asking in a scolding manner, as though she wanted to know why he wasn’t applying, but rather, as if she wanted to know if he wanted to do it now, while they had the free time. 

He froze for a second, before giving his very simple answer. 

“I am not a Mandalorian.” 

“But you have Mandokarla, you passed into adulthood with a Trial of Combat, you fight for all and protect all you can. If our Alor’ad does not try to sponsor you for Mandalorian citizenship soon, I might. And if I don’t, there are a few others here who I'd think would want to.” 

“I believe you know well enough I cannot swear the Resol’nare without potentially compromising my own beliefs. And my people would likely not take well to it, at all.” 

“I am aware, but your people have some di’kut ideas. Like their ideas on armour.” 

“The Force is our armour.” 

“Says the scar on your face.” 

“Sometimes my enemies have the Force. And sometimes I am someone else's Armour.” 

“Sometimes armour is armour.” 

“I cannot wear Beskar. Even if I could afford it, I cannot wear it morally.” 

“Durasteel then. Alloyed with Cortosis. If you’re going on dangerous missions, I speak for all of my clan when I say you need armour. We want you to be safe. As far as we’re concerned, you’re Clan Delstee, oath or not. One day, I hope you will be comfortable to add it to your name, but until you’re ready, we won’t push too hard.” 

“What makes you think I'm going on dangerous missions rather than taking a posting in, say, the Archives?” 

“Because Jango’s spent the last few years telling me how little he can wait for your Knighthood so you can go on missions together without anyone suspecting anything.” 

“Of course, he has.” 

Looking over from his meal, he noticed she’d already started to design a set of armour with his name on the top. 

Unbelievable. 

“I would like to see your jetii’kad before I design the clip. Seeing as it’s just the hilt and also that they vary greatly, I'm sure, means it won’t be as simple as creating a bes’kad attachment. I want to do it right.” 

“Of course. Perhaps next time I visit.” 

“Make it soon.” 

“I could just use an order issue cli...” 

“No. My armoury, my rules. I don’t like sending people out without equipment I can ensure is working and good. No, you’ll just have to bring it here, for once.” 

So, she had noticed he’d never once brought his Sabre into their community, at least not openly. 

“Once it’s finished, I’ll do just that.” 

“Finished. I was under the impression you already had one, which was what you used on missions to defend yourself? Was that why you never brought it?” 

“No, I did, but it was destroyed in my fight on Naboo. I never brought it because I did not wish to offer insult to any of the Mando’ade here. Our people have been enemies or tensely amicable for millennia. Besides, if I was to be attacked here, I am outnumbered by people who know well enough how to fight Jedi, in armour that is often sabre proof. I'd lose, armed or not.” 

“Destroyed. So, you have to craft a new one. Perhaps I could...” 

“Crafting a sabre is as precious to us as crafting beskar’gam is to you, we have to craft them ourselves. However, I am having issues.” 

“If you wish to work on it here, you are entirely welcome. A different environment may be useful.” 

“Vor’e. I might take you up on that.” 

“When are you free, I'll book some time for you?” 

“I am on medical leave at the moment, so whenever suits you, Goran Delstee.” 

. 

. 

. 

“Obes, you’ve been back from Illum for a tenday. But you haven’t built your sabre yet.” 

“I know, Quin.” 

“What’s the issue?” 

Obi-Wan sighed, he didn’t want to go into this, and with everything that had happened, part of him didn’t want to face it. Not with Jedi who knew its significance. 

“With me.” 

It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to build the sabre, he had, but it sat dismantled in pieces on the table in his quarters, on a strip of cloth. No matter how hard he’d meditated, he could not find the peace or focus he needed to put it together. If all went well, his meeting with Goran Delstee could be the solution, but there was so much circling in his head. He couldn't see how he was ever going to be able to find the peace needed to build it. 

Once the door was closed, he drew the new Crystal from his belt, unwrapping the fabric it had been secured in. 

“Oh.” 

Oh was right. 

He'd never heard of a Kyber Crystal like this. 

Gold. 

Not orange, not yellow, not bronze. 

Gold. 

With black and silver veins running through it. 

“Obi, it’s beautiful.” 

It was beautiful, but... but he’d just wanted it to be blue, like his old one had been. 

“It is.” 

“But?” 

“I am getting enough stigma for my fight with the Sith, and with everything Master Jinn’s been saying to people, Quin. The last thing I need is an unheard-of lightsabre.” 

“It’ll be fine.” 

“You’ve heard what people have been saying.” 

“I have. And joining the Shadows may not help, Obi...” 

“How exactly did you hear about that one?” 

“Don’t insult me. And seriously, Obes, if you’re worried about how people will react, joining the shadows...” 

“No, that, I have to do. I know the Sith, the way they feel, in a way no-one else does. I've had more experience with darksiders than most of the Jedi in the Temple. It may be no help at all, or it could help save someone. And I have to fight slavery. For Ani, for myself, for everyone who’s ever been taken from their homes or born into it. They need to be freed, Ani’s mother to start with. I can’t stand by, I can’t.” 

“I know. And Master Tholme just commed me to let me know you’ve been approved. You'll meet with the Master of the First Council later today, I think, but congrats. You're a Shadow.” 

He allowed Quin to wrap him into a crushing embrace, returning it just as strongly. 

He needed to change the subject. 

“So, Quin, how's Aayla liking the new rooms?” 

“Kriff. Who told?” 

“Who says I was told.” 

“It was Bant. Wasn’t it?” 

“If I'm officially a Shadow I should probably finish my Sabre. I'm glad I already know how to use a blaster though, that’ll help.” 

“It can’t have been Reeft or Garen.” 

“I wonder if they’ll let me use my blasters. I still have them.” 

“Was it Lumi? She's far more of a gossip than people think.” 

“Quin.” 

“What?” 

“You had a natural bond already, she’s old enough, you’re a Knight. It was bound to happen. I guessed. Besides, I've been back for weeks, I have eyes.” 

“And if I hadn’t taken her yet?” 

“Then I would have teased you mercilessly.” 

“Make your damn sabre, Obes, I wanna spar.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Behot- medicinal herbal mix.  
> Tingilar- spicy mandalorian stew  
> Buy'ce- helmet  
> Ad’be’Alor- prince/ child of the soul ruler  
> Kal- short mandalorian dagger  
> Goran- Smith, very respected in Mandalorian culture.  
> Ne Ceta- I'm sorry, (strong)  
> Vor’e- thanks, lit. I owe you a debt  
> Shig- tea  
> Mando’ad(e)- mandalorian(s)  
> Dar’jeti- sith/darksider  
> Beskar’gam- armour  
> Mandokarla- the right stuff, mandalorian attitude  
> Alor’ad- prince/ child of the soul leader  
> Resol’nare- six tenants of mandalorian life.  
> Di'kut- idiot  
> Jetii'kad-lightsabre  
> Bes’kad-beskar sword 
> 
> Ok, time for some of the new Mandalorian characters I mentioned. They're going to be good for Obi-Wan, though, and good for adding lore.  
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> Please R+R.


	7. Princely Duties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Chapter is heeeeeerrrreeeeee!  
> And it's a Jango Chapter.  
> I don't own.  
> Please enjoy.

Jango wanted to get to Coruscant as quickly as he could. He wanted to be on that damned planet, despite how much he disliked it.

He was worried about Obi-Wan. 

He'd been worried about Obi-Wan for a month.

Naboo.

He'd said he was going to Naboo for a few days, a small political negotiation, but he’d been comm-silent for weeks.

Jango had been busy, finding Death Watch camps, dealing with Council meetings with his Buir, fighting pirates, training with his men, but the whole time, he’d been praying to the Manda or the Force or anything that his comm would ring.

Evey day it failed  to; his anxiety grew.

He’d never admit it, but whenever Obi-Wan sent a message mentioning a mission, he’d have a look at what his friend was walking into. He'd been concerned about how little information there was on the Naboo Crisis. How could a planet be  blockaded or invaded with no-one reporting on it?

He’d watched the Naboo Queen’s speech with an interest he knew he wouldn’t be able to explain if he was discovered, analysing every word, every piece of information offered.

For almost three days after there had been an agonizing lack of information.

And on the second of those days, he’d been sent after a group of Spice smugglers, and by the time he’d returned, the news was out.

Naboo were free, the occupation force cleared out of  Theed , the Naboo people rescued  from death camps, the dead being counted, the Trade Federation battling a legal fallout in the Senate and then he found the article he dreaded.

Reports that both Jedi helping save Naboo had been injured fighting an unknown lightsabre  wielding assailant. Reports varied from injuries being minor to critical to one alive and one dead.

Kriff , he’d known being a Jedi was dangerous, but to think that Obi-Wan could be dead, that had chilled him.

No, most of the reports said they was fine, mostly.

He'd be fine.

He was fine.

So, why wasn’t he kriffing comming?

It took a month.

It had been luck he’d been alone, and it had made answering that much faster.

Obi-Wan may not have said much about the mission, but the  bacta wraps over his face, the look in his eyes, the bags under them, the missing braid...

Obi-Wan had asked him to just talk, and he’d been happy to spend the night talking, if only to see Obi-Wan relax and some of the weight leave his shoulders.

Obi-Wan had shifted, and his tunic had slipped down his shoulder, just enough to reveal to him more  bacta wraps starting at his collar. He faltered in his words, but only for a second.

His friend needed this.

He'd talked until Obi-Wan had fallen asleep, and then started planning how quickly he could get to Coruscant, but Ka’ra there was so much work to do.

He'd been distracted the next day, and several people had commented on it.

He was supposed to be in a meeting and then oversee training, but he spent most of it on his  datapadd , reading everything he could about Naboo.

Reading and re-reading.

Knowing the reports were that he had faced a Sith, not a dark side  Jetii , but a Dar’jetii, finding out he’d been Knighted hadn't been much of a comfort in light of it. 

So, he’d decided he was making sure Obi-Wan was actually ok, and celebrating his Knighthood, in person.

If he could finally  kriffing get some time to go to Coruscant.

Finding out that  Al’verde Emille Keel was planning on going back to her Clan to see her  aliit was the perfect opportunity to hitch a lift, and it took no effort at all to convince her to let him come along. The  Twi’lek woman was a good friend, as was her sister. They were both friends with Obi-Wan, Kenza more so through exposure, though he knew Obi-Wan and Emille talked quite a bit on comms.

His Buir was a little harder to convince, but Clan Delstee were Haat Mando’ade and loyal to the Mand’alor, not to mention part of House Mereel. It was just his princely duty to visit some of their outlying clans occasionally, wasn’t it?

But before that he had a council meeting.

A boring, boring council meeting.

Princely duties, kriff, his Buir was a politician alright, twisting his own argument against him.

He didn’t hate the New Mandalorians... well, ok, he hated their ideas, and their devotion to destroying Mandalorian culture, and that they practically refused to speak Mando’a, but he didn’t hate them specifically.

He wasn’t allowed, at least not without a personal reason. 

“ Jan’ika ,” his Buir had said, leaning on his desk with an exhausted sigh, “we need their allegiance, we have it. I know it’s frustrating, ad, but they’re our allies, which means we have to be civil.”

His Buir, unfortunately, was right. 

As usual.

Didn't mean he had to like it.

Especially not when  Kryze was in the seat next to him, nattering on about how there should be more regulation on who gets  Beskar’gam , completely disregarding the cultural meaning of  Beskar’gam , and why anyone, even bakers or tailors or florists, had the right to wear it if they so  choose .

His Buir was sending him a look that said smashing his head face first into the table would be considered undiplomatic. Behind him Myles was trying not to laugh, something  Jango had learned to recognise in his friend,  buy’ce or not. Better that than the time Myles had fallen asleep standing, his  buy’ce covering it up.

At least Adoni Kryze had been loyal to the Haat Mando’ade, even if he himself did not wish to wear armour or fight. 

How that ideal had been lost from one generation to the next,  Jango had no idea, but his daughter Satine had clearly lost her nuts somewhere. That she was running Kalevala and Sundari and held her late-Buir’s title of  Jorad’alor , leader of the New  Mandalorians , it was infuriating.

Then again her sister Bo-Katan's ideals were dangerously close to Kyr’tsad’s, and if conflicts started again in full, he wasn’t truly sure which side she might take.

“We don’t force  Mando’ade to wear armour, Dutchess Kryze, but as per our culture, it is available to any who chose to wear it. That will not change. If you do not wish to wear  Beskar’gam , you do not have to, but it is not our place to force it on others to give up their armour or to wear it.”

His Buir’s voice had a tone that signalled the end of the discussion, even if  Kryze looked furious that her argument had been so swiftly and practically shut down.

If she hadn’t been so dedicated to an ideal that sought to crush his own, he’d admire her passion and tenacity. They'd probably be pretty good friends. 

She was the Jorad’alor because it was politically advantageous to have a New Mandalorian as their Voice Leader, a Dutchess who would speak for them all in Council Meetings. That way none of the New Mando, could complain they had no voice. Kryze wasn’t Jaster’s second, but she was very high ranking. Jaster was the leader of the Haat Mando’ade, Kryze was the leader of the New Mandalorians, and answered to his Buir.

The whole situation was very diplomatic and well  executed .

It was something  Jango admired greatly in his Buir.

There was an art to diplomacy, something he’d heard from so many people, Obi-Wan included, and it was something he still needed to ‘work on’. Which was a polite way of saying he was pretty awful at it.

Actually, that was a good idea for a conversation to cheer Obi-Wan up, and he’d sit through a lecture on Intergalactic Court Manners to see his face light up as he spoke and  taught and teased.

But he knew enough not to flee the Council Room as soon as the meeting was over.

“You think we’re going to have the same argument every meeting?”

“Elek.”

Jango laughed as his Buir groaned and slumped into his chair.

“So,  ad’ika , you’re going to  Coruscanta tomorrow?”

“Lek Buir, I'll speak with Clan  Delstee , meet some contacts, any politics you need done with the Republic while  I'm there?”

“Nyac, but be careful if you decide to take a bounty. The last thing we need is to piss them off.”

“I’m always careful.”

“Ortho Minor comes to mind.”

“You said you’d never bring that up again!”

Jaster was the one laughing this time, stresses of the day receding slightly.

“You won’t be too busy for a late meal with your dear old Buir tonight though?”

“Never, Buir.”

Dinner was simple, roasted meat in a sauce with rice, but dinner wasn’t about the meal, it was about getting to spend some time with his Buir. Being Alor was busy work, and he more than understood that meetings ran into dinner hours or through lunch. So did campaigns, it was the life of Mando’ade that things did not always go the way people wanted, but it did mean he cherished his time with his Buir whenever he got it.

The next  morning, he joined  Al’verde Keel on her ship, and headed for Coruscant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Ka’ra- stars/ mythical ancient council  
> Jetii- jedi  
> Dar'jetii- sith/darksider  
> Al’verde- commander  
> Aliit- family/clan  
> Haat mando’ade- true mandalorians  
> Mand’alor- soul leader  
> Mando’a- mandalorian language  
> Jan’ika- little Jango, affectionate  
> Buir-parent.  
> Ad- child.  
> Beskar’gam- armour  
> Buy'ce- helmet  
> Jorad’alor- voice leader, Dutchess, leader of the New Mandalorians  
> Kyr’tsad- death watch.  
> Elek- yes  
> Ad'ika- little child, kiddo.  
> Coruscanta- Coruscant  
> Lek- yeah  
> Nyac- no 
> 
> I used to quite like Satine, but the more I read into Mandalorian culture, the worse her actions were to me. The idea of destroying someone's culture, forcibly, is awful to me. However, I'm adding her to the story, and giving her a role, because she’s still a cool character, and a strong female character, even if she’s not morally someone I could support in real life. Hondo isn’t particularly moral, and he’s still a great character. 
> 
> Other than that, Jaster is Best Dad.  
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, as always.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> Please R+R.


	8. Shadow Walk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update.  
> I don't own, still.  
> Please enjoy.

“We’ve been watching your progress for a while, and planned on inviting you anyway, once you were Knighted, so you asking to join us was welcome.”

“We believe you have the strength and skills to be a valuable asset. I know you joined Quinlan in several Shadow technique training sessions since becoming a Senior padawan, and the soul healer said that despite your interactions with the Sith, you remain as bright as ever.”

“So, Knight Kenobi, welcome to the Shadows.”

“Thank you, Master Ti, Master Tholme.”

He'd already known that Master Tholme was a Shadow, after all, he’d been training Quinlan as one, and ran several of the Shadow training courses for Senior Padawans and Knights.

On the other hand, Master Ti had been re-introduced to him as the head of the First Council, and therefor the head of the Shadows. She was the one he’d be reporting in to.

“So, once you’re finally cleared by the Healers,” she explained, “you’ll be taking three months training, then you’ll have a few missions with other Shadows to get you started, before you will be cleared for solo missions. Once you are cleared, you’ll need to check in frequently by comm, and return to the Temple at least twice a year to check in with Mind and Soul Healers and to re-centre yourself. Know we have the right to ground you if we think you need more time to recover from a mission.”

“I understand. Thank you, Masters.”

They dismissed him after another half an hour of admin questions, confirmations about his forms, weapons abilities aside from Sabrework, which modules he’d taken and therefor what skills he had, the languages he knew.

He left with a buzz in his soul.

He was on his way to being a Shadow Knight.

.

He'd barely been back in his room for an hour when his comm buzzed. Had it been someone else he might have just kept reading his  holo novel, one of the trashy Jedi romance novels he and a small group in the archives had created a joke book club around to analyse, but there were a select few people who he always answered.

“Jango, su’cuy.”

“ Su’cuy , Obi-Wan. Guess who’s going to be in Little  Keldabe next week.”

“Emille?”

“Cheat.”

“You’re catching a lift?”

“She was so kind as to offer one, yes.”

“All this way for little old me.”

“Ehhhhh.”

“I should be free, I suppose.”

“I want to celebrate. And you know there’s no-one at Shereshoy who won't want an excuse for a party.”

“Still can’t believe they named a club ‘lust for life’. Not that it doesn’t fit, because there’s no-one in that place that doesn’t have a lust for life, but it’s a little on the nose, no?”

“Oh no, that’s normal enough. Besides, like you said, who doesn’t feel it in that place. Lor keeps one of the best attitudes of any club I've ever been to. You just feel alive.”

“Is that not the power of gal and tihaar.”

Jango's laugh was like a balm on his soul, the cherries and cream on an already perfect ice cream sundae of a day.

“It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other.”

“It has indeed,  Obi’ika .”

“ Jango , we’re the same height. Actually, without  your armour, you’re slightly shorter than me.”

“It’s a good thing I have my armour then.”

“You do need something to protect that hard head, yes.”

“Not the pretty face?”

“ Ehhh , you don’t think it’s a little late for that.”

“ Ah , I am outraged, Obi, outraged!”

When was the last time he’d joked and laughed like this? This care free? Before Naboo, it had to have been.

“But really, Coruscant? Anything I should worry about?”

“ Nyac . Just a social visit.”

“I think I can be free for a party.”

“Oh you think?”

“Well, some of us have  schedules .”

If Obi-Wan could see  Jango , he would have bet he had just put his hand on his heart in mock outrage,  judging by the dramatic gasp anyway.

“ Schedules !”

“Yes,  schedules ,” he answered, not even trying to keep the laugh out of his voice, “I have training.”

“I thought being Knighted meant you were free of that.”

“Medical leave and creche duties at the moment. Three months intensive specialist training once I'm cleared from medical leave and then I'll be into the field.”

“I suppose I can wait three months more.”

“Oh can you?”

“Well, some of us have royal duties.”

“Royal Duties!”

His  exclamation was cut off in a bubble of laughter, something he could hear echoed on the other side of the comm.

“Speaking of Royal duties,  Jango , how have you been?”

“I haven’t killed any of the  di’kutla ‘New  Mandalorians ’ yet, so pretty well.”

“Are they still harping on about banning Beskar’gam?”

“I just don’t understand it,  Ob’ika . We're hardly forcing them to wear armour, I don’t understand why they’re trying to force us to give it up. I can understand  their not wanting to wear it, I guess, but they don’t have to.”

“I know,  Jango , I know. If someone tried to tell us we couldn’t have our sabres... I’m a Jedi, I understand a want for peace, I admire someone who will fight for peace, but... it always looks to me like they’re going about it all wrong.”

“Thats an understatement, they want to destroy our culture.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. You've never had to try to argue this with my Master, who believes the New  Mandalorians and their ideals are the best thing in the universe and that they should be put into power on  Mandalore over the True  Mandalorians by any means available.”

“Speaking of your former Master, how’s things?”

He sank deeper into the chair, unconsciously rubbing a hand down his scar. They'd brushed on this a few times since Naboo, but aside from one tearful  late night rant, he’d said very little, and he knew it had worried his friend greatly.

“He’s out of the Healing Halls, they think he’ll be cleared for light training soon.”

“Obi...”

“I wish he’d talk to me Jango, I wish he’d just look, and see that I haven't fallen, that he hasn’t failed me. I'm still light, I'm still the child he raised, but what I did was almost unheard of without falling into the dark. He won’t see me; he won’t even let me explain. The healer's think the Sith might have managed to get something past his shields when we fought it, but they don’t know yet, and you know how little he cares for the Mind Healers.”

“I’m sorry, it’s not fair.”

“It’s not unexpected either, and he’s not the only one. There are other Jedi of the same opinion. It hurts, but...”

“But it doesn’t make it easier. And you’re too nice to be angry, so I'm going to be angry for you.”

“Jango...”

“ Oh don’t deny it, he’s kriffed up more than once, and you always forgive him.”

“He’s my Buir, and, you know I've said before how dangerous attachment can be. His attachment to Tahl is the reason I was left on Melida-Daan, and his attachment to  Xanatos has caused a multitude of issues over the years.”

“He’s traumatised, Obi, from what  Xanatos did. I don’t blame him for that, but on  Mandalore , you wouldn’t let someone with trauma like that have a child. Not when it could put the child in danger.”

“I know  Jango , I know. How about you, and your Buir?”

“Stressed,  frustrated , wishing he could bury himself in his history research instead of trying to wrangle clan leaders.”

“Ha. One day I have to introduce him to Master Nu.”

“Master Nu?”

“Our archivist, she’s brilliant, and if she likes you, lovely. If you lose her favour, have fear. She manages out history and lore and once she realised I was researching  Mandalore , even without my having a proper reason beyond some semi- Banthashit excuse about a vision and it being necessary in the future, she’d make sure I had a table and find resources for me, hells, I think she read half the articles and books too.”

“Please don’t, he’d give the title to me, follow her into your archives and never leave.”

“You’d be fine.”

“Obi, I spend most of my meetings trying not to slam my face into the table. I don’t know how he manages it.”

“He’s a good leader.”

“He is. If I'm half the  Mand’alor he is, I'll be happy.”

“You love your people, your culture, you’re protective and strong, you have your people and you’ve proved time and again you can and will defend them.”

“And I might have a way to forge an alliance with our oldest... well, enemy is mean.”

“It fits though.”

His doorbell  commed and on the other side he felt Bant, and her  frustration .

“Someone there?”

“Bant, and I have about 30 seconds before she  overrides the door.”

“Go, run, hide, I'll comm you when I arrive.”

Jango was laughing at him. He was about to be ambushed by a Healer, and Jango was laughing.

“I’ll see you then,  Ret’urcye mhi.”

“Ret’urcye mhi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Su'cuy- hi   
> Shereshoy- lust for life, in this case the name of a club   
> Gal- ale   
> Tihaar- spirit (alcohol)   
> Nyac- no.   
> Di'kutla- idiotic   
> Ob’ika-little obi-wan   
> Mand’alor- sole leader.   
> Ret’urcye mhi- goodbye. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, another fluffy one with a side of plot, I hope you enjoyed it.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> Please R+R.


	9. Sabrecraft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jangobi week is over and I am back...  
> I don't own Star Wars.  
> This one's a bit lore heavy, but it should be fun too.  
> Please enjoy.

Goran Delstee was clearly fascinated by the Sabre pieces, but touched nothing as he laid them out, clearly scanning the parts and trying to piece them together in her mind.

Last but not least, he retrieved the crystal from his pocket.

“It’s golden?”

“That is, potentially, one of my issues.”

“Why choose that one then?”

“We don’t choose them. They find us. They are colourless until they bond with a Jedi, then they change colour, most often blue or green. If a Jedi is not supposed to have a sabre, they won’t find one. If they are, it will hum and sing until you find it. It's far more complex, but it’s also sacred, I hope you understand.”

“Of course. I won’t impose on your sacred practices. May I ask why the gold is an issue?”

“The colour of the crystal reflects part of your soul and future path. My last sabre was blue and it's almost unheard of that a second crystal would be a different colour to the first. For someone's soul or path to have changed so much between retrieving the two crystals...”

“So, the issue is that it has changed, and your discomfort with that had cause issues with crafting it?”

“Yes, but it’s not just that it changed. It has been a very long time since anyone has had a golden sabre, orange, yellow, bronze, yes, but gold... It's been so long I'm having to dig just to find out what it represents.”

“How exactly does this effect crafting it? Surely the pieces fit together no matter what?”

“We do not use our hands to craft them.”

“You... use your Force?”

“Yes. We must meditate with the crystal and parts and visualise the sabre, and it will come together. Unless you cannot find balance, in which case,” he gestured to the parts a little helplessly, “it doesn’t.”

She hummed and scanned over the parts again. Clearly the differences of their craftsmanship were something of a challenge, but it looked like one she wanted to embrace.

He didn’t manage to build it that day, in fact, he barely tried. Instead, they spent most of the day talking about how lightsabres were designed, the different shapes and designs for hilts based on forms, the colours of crystals and what he knew of their meanings. She also took his measurements for his armour and started drilling him for the colours he’d want for it, explaining the meanings of armour colours to him to make sure he understood them all so he could give it  proper thought.

The next day he returned to give it a proper go, arriving early, and feeling optimistic.

“Goran Delstee.”

“I want to see you make this. I really do.”

“I shall do my best. And I brought you a gift.”

“Oh.”

He passed her the datapadd, loaded with a file on the colours of Kyber and their meanings. He'd finally found it the night prior, including the meaning of the gold blade, but with her interest overall, it had answers he couldn’t give.

Besides, no-one knew discretion better than a Mando’ad Goran, and technically none of this information was classified. That there was such a divide between the Jedi and other people and that so much of the information was simply unknown, it was something that likely needed to be rectified.

So she sat with the datapadd and he fell into meditation, letting the parts float around him.

Eventually she put the padd down and started work again. The front of the forge was open, and although he was out of the line of sight, the sounds of the town flowed through the doors.

The smell of spices, the sound of the forges, the sounds of laughter and Mando’a conversation surrounded him as he sunk into meditation. Beskar muffled the Force, but he could feel comfort and laughter and life around him.

He opened his eyes as the sabre fell into his hands.

Completed.

Loree Delstee looked up from her food with a smile.

“Subterfuge, guile, charisma and charm. Strong fighter, usually someone incredibly strong in the light side, very rare colour indeed. That you can learn so much from the colour of the blade is fascinating.”

“I have always thought so. Although one of the issues with gold is it can often be confused with orange, which is actually a colour that can be wielded by grey-Sith and grey-Jedi. It's very much a middle ground colour.”

“And you said your old one was blue; deep physical connection to the Force, with physical based Force attacks, but typically prefer lightsabre combat. Justice, protection, Guardians. Fits what Jango’s always said.”

“But my path has changed greatly.”

“Yes, it sounds as though it has. What colour is your Master’s?”

“Green, negotiation and peace, more of a focus on the Living Force, strong in combat when they have to be but would prefer to sit and meditate. Consulars, not Guardians. Focus on mental abilities over physical ones.”

“So typically, blue is Guardian, green is Consular...”

“Yellow is Sentinel. Other colours are too rare to be classified in the same way, but I'm sure you’ve read about much of that. And of course, this is only the colours typically in each group, many Sentinels have blue or green blades, and there are other colours.”

“Morally good but mischievous for orange, balanced in soul for purple, some of these are fascinating. There was very little on black.”

“Which of course you’re interested in because of Tarre Vizsla? I'm afraid having only one example isn’t enough for a profile to be crafted. There have been barely enough pink or gold wielders to create profiles for them.”

“That makes sense. May I see the blade?”

He ignited it with a silent thanks that it hadn’t exploded, and admired the stunning blade.

Gold, with little sparks of black and silver flickering off of it as it hummed.

“It’s amazing.”

It was. It really was.

He laughed and gave it a few experimental swings, feeling the energy moving around like the extension of his soul that it was.

Force, he’d missed having a sabre in his hand.

“Are they really part of your souls?”

“What?”

“The look on your face, comfort and peace and, hells, serenity. They say part of your soul is in the kyber, but I never knew if it was true or not.”

“It is. When we bond with them, we bond part of our souls. The energy within us flows from us into the blade, which is why fighting with a lightsabre is different to another bladed weapon, it’s not really a blade, it’s controlled and directed energy activated at our will and following our will, so to speak. A Jedi will never be as efficient with someone else's sabre, a sith will never be as capable with a lightsider’s blade, nor a lightsider with a darksider’s bled blade.”

“Bled?”

“You’ll read it in more detail in the book, but red crystals don’t occur naturally. Kyber is light side... biased, for lack of a better word. They hide from  darksiders naturally, and once a force user falls or gets a hold of one, they have to fight to keep control of it. It will fight them when they try to use it, unless they bleed it, flood it with anger and pain and fear until it turns red. Light siders struggle to use a bled blade because it’s in so much pain, we can’t bond with them.”

“It’s incredible. I have devoted my life to weapons and weapon smithing, and these are some of the most fascinating weapons I've ever come across. I never knew they were so complex.”

Obi-Wan fiddled with the sabre controls, making sure it was on low power, before turning it off, and handing it to Goran Delstee.

“Try it.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s on 10% power, so it won’t do much damage. But I want you to feel how different it is to wield, even from plasma-based melee weapons.”

She ignited the blade, and jolted slightly, before attempting a few practice swings.

“It’s... weightless.”

“It’s energy. The only physical material is the hilt, so the only weight is the hilt.”

“But it still has a pull. It still needs effort to wield, but it’s also weightless. I've never held a weapon like it, I don’t think I could fight with this. Is the Darksabre the same?”

She powered it off and returned it to him, looking almost disappointed despite her clear eagerness to learn more.

“It will be, yes, although I suppose the  kyber inside will bond with the  Mand’alor and therefor be wieldable for them. It might even work in that regards in that it will only work well and bond with the true Mand’alor, although of course I cannot be certain. They are semi-sentient, after all. Very smart things, Kyber crystals.”

“Huh. I think I’m happy leaving  Jetii’kad to the  Jetiise . I'll stick with  beskar . Metal is metal and weighs as much.”

He snorted and  responded , “That's entirely fair. And thank you, for helping me with this.”

“I did nothing more than give you a space to meditate and work.”

“And I am grateful for it.”

“I still think you should consider becoming Mando’ad officially. You have Mandokarla in spades.”

“I don’t want to leave my own people, as flattered as I am. Besides, I don’t want to do that to my Master.”

“Your  Buir should not be the deciding factor in whether you stay or leave.”

“He’s not, but... my  ori’vod betrayed us and tried to kill us when I was 12 and again a few times after. Actually, he’s still out there, still wants me dead too. He fell, and my Master is forever worried that the same thing could happen to me. He cares greatly, but since Naboo, he’s basically convinced himself he’s failed me. It's not that there’s nothing that could convince me to leave, although there’s little reason for me to at the moment, but I don’t want to leave a rift like that between us. And I’d like to reassure him that I'm fine and light and that he hasn’t failed me, if I can.”

“Why would he think you fallen?”

Obi-Wan sighed, “Some of the things I did on Naboo are not typically managed by Padawans, my ability to move unhindered through waves of targeted darkness, it’s not normal of a lightsider. Then the new sabre crystal.”

“I thought Gold meant strongly in the light.”

“Not always, unfortunately.”

“No?”

“There have only been 43 recorded wielders of Gold sabres in the entirety of the Order’s history. So far, of the 43, 44  including me, 43 again including me, have fit that profile you listed, but that doesn’t mean it’s definite. Blue, green, there have been hundreds of thousands, likely millions, through history, so those profiles are strong, but there’s so few examples for others, so they can’t be as easily trusted. Besides, even then they’re not 100%, just indications.”

“I understand. But I think you’ll be fine, there's nothing evil in you as far as I can see. You can be one of us and still be with your own people, that’s what you’ve been doing these past five years, and everyone thinks so. Oh, speaking of, I have something for you.”

He paused, wondering what it could be in such a short space of time.

She returned with what he instantly recognised to be a lightsabre clip and it fit perfectly, how she’d done that by eye in such a short space of time was a testament to her skill.

Looking closely, he noticed another little detail.

Not only was it beskar, but it had the Clan Delstee sigil carved into the side in tiny but intricate detail, a stylised Anooba identical to the one hanging on a tapestry behind them, and on Goran Delstee’s shoulder.

“I... vor’e.”

“You’re not allowed to say you’re not part of the Clan and you’re not refusing it. My Buir has started working on the paperwork to formerly add you to the Clan, so that’s that.”

“I won’t argue, I clearly can’t. I'm flattered, really. Although I have to wonder what happened to ‘we won’t push’?”

“We’re impatient, besides I said you don’t have to add it to your name when you use it, not that you’re not Clan. If you’d let me, I'd add the sigil to part of the hilt, or am I asking too much to add something to your sabre?”

“I’d be honoured, as long as I don’t break any taboos on your part.”

He left Little Keldabe feeling lighter than he had in weeks, sabre completed, marked with the Delstee Anooba and tucked neatly against his back.

He was ready for a spar with Quin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Goran- metalsmith. Highly respected title.  
> Mando'a- mandalorian  
> Mand'alor- Sole Ruler of Mandalore  
> Jetii'kad- Jedi lightsaber   
> Jetiise- Jedi (plural)  
> Mandokarla- the right stuff, the essence of what it is to be Mandalorian  
> Buir- parent  
> Ori'vod- older sibling  
> sigil- clan mark  
> vor'e- thank you
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> Please R+R.


	10. Sudden processing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the spar...  
> I don't own Star Wars.  
> Please enjoy.

“Hello there, Padawan Secura. Here to watch me kick your Master’s...”

“Hey!”

“Oh of course, Knight Kenobi.”

“Congratulations, padawan, I am glad you’ve finally taken your place as Quin’s apprentice. Won me 50 Creds.”

“Wait, it what?”

“And to you, Knight Kenobi, for your knighthood.”

“What do you mean 50 Creds?”

He truly was exceptionally glad to see Aayla as Quin’s padawan. They had all seen it coming, completely and without doubt, but it still felt right to see it. She would become an incredible Jedi when she was older, he had a good feeling about it.

That and she was 11 and already looked like she was ready to fight a  gundark barehanded to save someone.

He'd bet on her.

“Are you ready, Quin?”

“Are you? You're the one on medical leave.”

“I passed my physical and soul tests, once I've passed mind, I'll be off medical leave, and I only have three scheduled sessions left. I can fight, unless you’re scared...”

Quinlan lit his sabre, and Obi-Wan followed suit, laughing as he joined him in the main sparing area and bowing.

“Look at that thing. I've always joked about you having a golden...”

“Oh shut up.”

They started by trading easy blows, testing each other, catching and matching strikes. As they warmed up and kept going, they sped up and the fight became more intense.

And more enjoyable.

He couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

Green and gold sparked as they clashed, and he was suddenly very aware it was the first spar he’d had since Naboo.

His face burned and the world chilled.

“Solah.”

Quin, fantastic friend that he was, instantly powered his weapon down, accepting Obi- Wan's call to end the fight.

His own sabre powered off as it clattered to the floor.

Waves of calm washed against him, through the small but powerful creche-bond he and Quin had held for years, grounding him in the training salle, not the cold, dark-washed Generator room his mind seemed to want to take him to.

“Obes?”

“Sorry, I'm sorry. I just... that was my first spar since...”

“Naboo?”

“It caught me a little. I'm fine.”

“And done for today.”

They both spun to face Healer Maru Kander, Obi- Wan's mind healer, an elderly Tholothian who did not look it. Looking around, they’d gathered quite a crowd for their spar, likely for a multitude of reasons, and someone had probably called him and told him what was happening.

Obi-Wan was cleared for sparing physically, and no-one had said he’d need to be cleared by his mind healer, but suddenly he was struck with a guilty feeling that he should have been.

And their  spectators , all those Jedi who’d seen his new sabre, his new, golden, abnormal sabre.

Oh, better to get some things over and done with. 

Escaping the salles had been easy enough, there were far too many rumours spreading following Naboo. Masters and older Knights had enough respect not to question him about any curiosity they might have had after the way he’d reacted at the end of the fight; they’d seen it before. Younger Knights and Padawans who might have been ruled by curiosity and inexperience stayed away, because no-one wanted to get too close to the Jedi who might have fallen.

The rumours would pass.

They'd be dismissed, Padawans would be told by their Masters that he was still Light, it would blow over.

“Knight Kenobi.”

“Master Kander, I apologise, I should have checked with you before sparing.”

“You don’t have must experience with mind healers, do you?”

“I’m afraid not, my Master has always seen them as a waste of time and  Healers energy, no offence meant. I've always managed with deep meditations and the comfort of Light where I can find it. That and volunteering for things like Creche Duties or time in the nurseries,  although I know that one’s a tried and tested technique.”

The corridor they were in was secluded enough that he was willing to have this conversation, just.

“I must also apologise, I had assumed, given your Mission Record, you were aware of the protocols.”

Suddenly the carvings decorating the walls were incredibly interesting. Truly, the whole Temple was a work of art.

“Knight Kenobi, Obi-Wan, everyone needs a mind healer occasionally, there’s no shame in it. But nor is  there shame in having not seen one and having to find your own methods. I sense no darkness in you, despite what others seem to want to believe. You have seen much, and you’re still balanced, remarkably so. In fact, it was this balance that mislead me to believe you’d had help before. I will not make you talk about anything, I have said this before, and from what I've seen of your mind and soul and your inner light, I do not feel any need to push the issue.”

Master Kander,  adjusted his robes slightly and continued.

“It is better that you have found a way to keep your light, than do nothing and Fall. That you choose to work towards the light, even when you did not feel able to come for help, shows dedication and strength of will. But, if you ever need or want to talk about any of it, if there are issues, I am here to help you. Please remember that.”

“Thank you, Master Kander. I... I appreciate it, truly.”

“I have never met anyone who’s Light works like yours, not in 65 years as a Mind Healer. I can see why the untrained might think you at risk of Falling, but you’re not.”

“Then why do even those closest to me seem to think I might be Falling ?”

“Can  you spare time for a meeting now? I'm free, and this is best spoken of  in comfort.”

He had nowhere to be, and if there was any way to settle the doubts and fears  buried deep in his mind, he had to believe Maru Kander knew  it .

Master Kander’s office was stunning, and so full of plants it felt more like a garden. Not just plants, there was art, tapestries and resin models and paintings. The seats were comfortable, the desk pushed so far to one side it was almost useless, except to hold ornaments and more plants. The walls were a soft sandy orange, the celling covered in spirals that were practically invisible through the hanging plants and vines and twisted metal decorations with colourful crystals that projected refracted light around the room.

Incense burned almost constantly, keeping any darkness from finding a place to settle.

Maru Kander himself was an unfailingly kind  Tholothian , and Obi-Wan didn’t know how old he was, only that he’d been a Mind Healer for a long time, and a field Knight before that. He was disarmingly  comfortable to be around, and knew his trade well.

“So, you wanted to know why people worry so much about you Falling?”

“I mean, I know Padawans shouldn’t be able to best Sith, nor gain the energy to heal the way I did. They believe I must have drawn from the dark, but it’s been confirmed my soul is still Light, what I can’t understand is why some people don’t seem to believe it.”

“Ah, I see. There is a technique, learnt and used by the darkside, in which they can draw Light from their surroundings and wear it like a cloak. It does not disguise from someone who knows what to look for when it comes to Falling, but for a cursory look, and sometimes even a scrutinous one, it can disguise a dark core. You came back from that fight lighter than when you left, you were glowing like a beacon the first few days, even though it quickly dimmed down. When exposed to that sort of darkness, a stain is typically left.”

“But not with me?”

“No, not with you. It's not entirely unheard of, there are Jedi who have souls designed to withstand the darkness as yours has, even  though that has not been seen for a long time. You must be cautious though, just because you are more resistant does not mean you cannot Fall, only that it would take a lot more effort.”

“I understand. I will do everything in my power not to, as I suppose all Jedi do.”

“Whatever coping methods you use outside of seeing me, they work. Nothing is the same for everyone, but as long as they do not harm you, I trust you to keep yourself mostly balanced.”

“If you think I am balanced, may I ask why you still believe I need to be here, beyond the mandatory meetings?”

“Why I haven’t cleared you? Mind Healers work on more than keeping the mind light, you have seen trauma, and it does damage like it or not. What happened  today , when you spared?”

“I... froze up. Flashed back. It was the first lightsabre fight I've had since... since Naboo.”

“It happens, Obi-Wan. To Force Users, to civilians, everyone. Events leave their marks in  people's minds, and they can be triggered.”

“You think this will happen again!”

“I don’t know. It might be that it was the first time, or it could be something more. But until I am sure, I can’t clear you.”

“If I froze up in the field someone could die. I understand.”

“Do you have  any more questions?”

“No... no, Master Kander, I think you’ve answered them all. Thank you.”

.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but frown at his reflection in the mirror.

‘Even with bacta, lightsabre wounds scar.’ 

Everyone knew it, but it didn’t make it easier to look at.

The scars were so fresh, still raised and red. 

He reached up and traced it from hairline to chin, measuring the distance between the scar and his eye with his thumb, and between the scar and his lips with a finger. Half an inch to the left and he’d have lost his right eye, or it would have cut through his lips. If he hadn’t been moving, it would have cut through his jaw or worse.

The gap between the bottom of the scar on his chin and the top of it on his chest was weirdly disjointed. Logically, he understood it was one straight sweeping blow and that the gap was merely because there was a gap of air travelled by the blade between the contact points, but it still looked... weird.

It started, he worked out, tracing over it, at the very tip of the left collar bone, right down to the bottom of his ribs, in line with the elbow of his left arm. It almost wrapped around him.

He traced the places where it intersected other, older scars. Scars from blades and blasters and shrapnel and debris from a time where  bacta hadn’t been an option. A life of hardship, the body of a warrior, but he was only 24. 

He'd seen bodies with this as the killing blow, yet here he stood.

Had he been a second faster, or the  sith a second slower, had he been in a slightly different position, he would have lost his eye, his mouth, his heart or lungs or head. 

If this blaster had been a fraction higher, or had he moved a moment  later.

The Force had favoured him, time and again. Spared him from the killing blow.

Why?

Why him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> None.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> Please R+R.


	11. Party Time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What time is it? Party time!  
> I don't own Star Wars.  
> Please enjoy.

Obi-Wan loved Little  Keldabe at dusk.

There was something about the community, bathed in the setting sunlight, flags rippling in the breeze, lights flickering to life and atmosphere  shifting that was  breath-taking every time.

Little  Keldabe had weathered the New  Mandalorians better than most places, he’d been told, when it came to ideas of architecture and art, mainly because there was also a Little Sundari on the other side of the Senate to them, where the New Mando’s went. While many places, including cities like Sundari, had become boxy and hard and, in many Mandalorian’s opinions, emotionless, Little Keldabe had kept much of the older and more traditional stylings.

Of course, it was still on Coruscant, and could not escape the influences of Core World architecture, but Clan  Delstee had managed to keep it as their own. Much like the real  Keldabe , Jango had said. It was designed structured like  Keldabe too, with the home of the  Delstee’s and all the most important things in the centre. In the real Keldabe, the Royal Palace is in the centre of the citadel fortress of a city, as well as some forges and other official buildings.

Strings of  balled lanterns strung their way along buildings, but did not cross between them lest they get into the path of those with jetpacks. Banners, flags and tapestries hung from flagpoles and shopfronts and the windows of the homes above them, often adorned with Clan  Delstee or Clan  Mereel aliik, and a few with the Republic logo just to keep the peace. There was gold on the holo-signs, rather than the blues and greens often used in the rest of the Republic, and the weapons...

It wasn’t at all out of place for a shop to have crossed bes’kad above its doorway, or battle axes above a bar. There were arches between buildings in some places, often over alleyways, with angular but stylised designs, often adorned with material wrappings or more lights, and they were carved with precise markings that depicted battles or weapons, or people.

And that wasn’t even thinking of the people, the mix of armoured and not, armed and not, but with no discomfort. The unarmed knew and trusted the armed would not only never harm them but also do what they could to see they did not come to harm  because they were clan.

His clan.

As far as the  Delstees were concerned, and that was enough for most. Goran  Delstee would not gift him  beskar or design him armour or claim as such unless her Buire agreed.

“Ben!”

Kenza and  Jango jogged over and he greeted both as friends, with a solid and near-bruising hug.

“ Haha , it’s true,”  Jango brushed his hair where the braid had been with a grin, “it’s gone.”

“Very funny.”

He was glad Kenza knew he was a Jedi, another person who had learnt the full truth, even if she pretended otherwise. The Keel sisters were both well trusted in both battle and intelligence, and both, one here on Coruscant and the other living on  Manda’yaim , were respected  for it.

She had, however, laughed her  shebs off admitting she’d worked it out seeing him with Quin in a club and Quin with his lightsabre and then realising what the braid meant, rather than working it out from his braid alone. Or any other features of his personality, for that matter.

“Hey, Ben, let me finally introduce you to Emille in person.”

Emille Keel looked like her sister. 

A lot.

They were the same height, built, skin tone, their  lekku were the same length and if there were differences in their markings, they were almost indistinguishable. Their accents varied slightly, but once they’d been together for more than about five minutes, that variation vanished. 

The main difference that could be used to tell them apart, was that Emille had a dark green patch on her face, covering her left eye, part of her nose and her ear cone, that contrasted the light green of her skin, but he knew that with her  buy’ce on, you couldn’t see it.

Although with her  buy’ce on, their armour had  variations in paint that could be told apart.

Still, he knew that if Emille covered up the patch with a concealer, or Kenza used a different shade to give  herself one, no-one would know which of them was which, and that they’d done so before. They'd also swapped armour before, on one of Kenza’s trips to  Mandalore , and Jango had sent him footage of them causing havoc several times over the course of that visit. 

Neither sister was wearing their full armour tonight, instead wearing jackets, tops and trousers, sparkly and stylish and, well, party clothes, looking a mix traditional  Twi’lek outfits and current Mandalorian fashion. Both looked stunning, and if they were looking for a hook-up at some point during the party, and with parties like this it was rare someone single wouldn’t be, they weren’t going to have any issues finding someone.

“A pleasure to finally meet you. Comms are not the same.”

He greeted her with a bow and a kiss to the hand, partly because it was polite, and party as part of an old joke.

“ Kriff I thought I was remembering your accent wrong, but it really is that posh.”

“Emille!”

“What? He sounds like he should be running a planet. Wait, should you be running a planet?”

Emille didn’t know he was a Jedi and despite never having met him in person, she was one of the leading theorists that he was actually a crowned prince of somewhere shirking his royal duties every time he came to see them, and she loved him for it.

“If I was, I think they could manage without me.”

“Like we do when Jango’s here.”

“Hey!”

Jango was also out of armour, having instead chosen a black synth leather jacket with silver stitching and lining, matching boots, deep blue jeans and a simple grey tee that was unfairly tight, showing off his muscles. He didn’t need to be wearing anything more complex, it suited him fine, and looked equally stunning. Even in civilian clothing, he looked princely and part of Obi-Wan wanted to see if he could make some sort of crown at some point that night to nestle in his curls.

In armour or out of it, all the  Mando’ade were going to be looking  fantastic for the party, because what was a party but an excuse to dress up, drink up and hook up.

Obi-Wan wasn’t one to disappoint or fail to live up to a challenge though.

Over the years, for one mission or another, and now with his training for undercover work, he knew how to dress for an occasion and where to get what he wanted. And now that he had his Knight’s stipend, he could  afford it too.

Besides, Emille was not the only one who believed he was royalty, and he wasn’t going to miss the chance  to play on that one.

His trousers were form fitting black fabric that fanned out at the ankles. He wore a black halter necked material wrap that crossed over his chest leaving his sides and back exposed, as well as a V at his neck and another in the opposite direction down to his trousers exposing his belly button and abs. Alone it would have been practically indecent, but he was also wearing a silvery sheened, emerald green gossamer wrap that was basically see through but technically covered everything. His hair was stylishly mussed, and he knew he would not necessarily be out of place in a club or a Senate Gala.

There was a thin crossover, and he knew exactly how to fit into it.

He had also been wearing a long black cloak over it, but now he was outside the club he removed it, draping it over one arm until he could put it on a coat hook inside.

The reaction was  immediate .

“ Kriffing Hells Ben, did you sneak out of some gala?”

Kenza looked somewhere between appalled and amused as she laughed out her question.

“That or he mugged the Naboo delegation.”

“Hey, are we partying or not!”

They all turned to see  La’a Vree outside  Shereshoy waving them over and he couldn’t help but laugh at their blatant flirting with Kenza as soon as they were side by side. Everyone knew they had a thing for Kenza, that it was reciprocated and that at some point one of them was going to ask the other out properly. Obi’s money was on them asking before the new year, though he’d been wrong before.

Jango’s arm was round his waist as they entered the club, flashing lights and pounding music setting the atmosphere.

They were right; it was party time.

.

.

.

The party started with a toast, to Ben’s coming of age, and, after a surprise appearance from Goran  Delstee , Ben’s joining the clan properly and officially. Everyone took a shot, cheered ‘Oya!’ and the music kicked up a notch. Just about everyone came over to congratulate and welcome him at first, but that tapered off into a proper party quickly enough.

The party was spectacular, as was expected in Shereshoy, with good drinks, good company and great music. It was shaping up to be a fantastic night and he wasn’t going to be stumbling back to the Temple until the latest of the early hours of the morning. Or, if he managed a hook-up, maybe not until the sun was long up, and judging by some of the looks he was getting, he’d probably have an offer or two, unless Jango’s suddenly growly mood scared them off.

Too bad most of the  verde he’d had flings with over the past few years were busy or taken.

The party had barely been going for an hour when two verde, Kael and Rafi, tossed a bound and frustrated looking Quin onto the floor.

Kriff kriff kriff.

No, no this couldn’t be happening, why was this happening oh Force!

“We caught him following you, Ben? From just after you entered the town, we caught him trying to get into the building, he was armed.”

Course they did. Course he did, moron. If the  verde decided Quin was a threat to him, he could be killed and even if he didn’t this might be how he died because even if the whole Clan decided they were fine with him being  Jetii , the Jedi would kill him. 

Sneaking out to spend time with  Mandalorians , whom most still considered enemies to the Jedi, after the loyalty issues that had sprung up after  Bandomeer and  Melida /Daan, after the  fiasco on Naboo, he could be considered a traitor. 

Even if he wasn’t, even if they accepted it, or at least if they didn’t persecute him for it...

Qui-Gon would kill him.

And then Quin opened his stupid mouth.

“Dude, what the  kriff is going on? What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? I have friends here. I'm clearly partying. What are you doing here! I... you have a kid, it’s late?”

Why the  kriff was that the first thing that had come to his mind? Gah. He'd already had too much to drink, hadn’t he? Or maybe it was the blind panic?

“She’s fine, she’s with a friend. Wait, no, that’s not the issue here. I just got tackled by  Mandalorians who think I was following you!”

“You were following me.”

“Only because I was worried.  First, I see you sneaking out, then I see you entering Little  Keldabe , a Mandalorian settlement, the hells  is going on! If... you can’t... they’ll... bro!”

“I’m assuming you know him, Ben?”

“Yeah, sorry Rafi, Kael, he’s a friend.”

A flash of worry spiked from his friends and it was then that he noticed the music had been stopped and everyone was watching, most of the room an errant sneeze away from drawing a weapon.

He turned to Lor Rui, the owner of  Shereshoy , “Is there a place he and I can talk for a minute?”

“Yeah, back room.”

“ Vor'e .”

He felt no guilt at all as he manhandled Quin into the back room. This was his night, and if his  friend had just ruined it, he was actually going to cry.

“What the  kriff are you doing here Quin!”

“I was worried about you. What the hells is going on?”

“I... I've been coming here since I was 16, I'm actually  kinda part of the Clan now.

“You’re joking!”

“No. When they found out about,” he waved his hands in the area the braid had been, “they decided coming of age was a good reason for a celebration.”

“So they know you’re a...”

“No, well, not everyone, but the people who officiated my joining the Clan know, meaning the Main  Delstee family, then there’s  Jango , Kenza, a few others. I'd guess most of the people who live here have worked it out, though there are always people coming and going. The ones who don’t know, think I'm most likely the child of a celeb or  a senator or a royal or something.”

“You certainly look the part. But seriously, this is where you’ve been going? All your sneaking off and the other weird things you’ve been doing, the weird teas and knick-knacks and swearing in a language no-one knows. It's all Mando stuff.”

“For the past 8 years, yeah.”

“Force, ok, that actually makes some sense, I guess. Does Jinn know?”

“No! No  Kriff no, he can’t, he’d freak out, Hell’s, he’d kill me. Please don’t tell anyone. Quin, you can’t tell anyone.”

Quin froze, then gripped his shoulders, looking horrified or nauseous, he wasn’t sure which.

“Force, did... do you really think I would sell you out. You're my brother, Obes, I don’t care as long as you’re safe. You are safe right?”

“I am. If I let myself be honest, they’re as much my family as the Jedi at this point.”

“And they think your name is Ben?”

“They know it’s a pseudonym, but they also know my Buir, my dad, is extremely anti-Mandalorian except for the New  Mandalorians , who no-one here likes much, and that my people often hold similar views. They know I could be in danger if I was found to have been coming here and meeting people, so they humour the fake name. Although now Ben  Delstee is also my name on records here.”

“Is that why they felt more worried after you said you knew me than when they thought I was just some thug following you. They thought I would turn you in and put you in danger.”

“Some of the Verde here wouldn’t hesitate to put themselves between me and a threat, and though several of them know I can hold my own, and they’ve seen it after I was nearly mugged, but they do think I'm most likely some rich core  worlder’s son who needs someone to step in and whatnot, so yeah... you being here, they don’t want me in danger even if the danger’s my family, because they see themselves as also my family, and they are, actually, so I need to stop saying they think, and...”

“You lost your point there didn’t you.”

“This was a bit of a surprise, Quin.”

“Sorry, but uhh, this is a Knighting party I just crashed, isn’t it?”

“Coming of age, but yeah, it was  Jango’s idea, I think. Won't have taken much to get the others on board though. Oh, and Goran  Delstee showed up and officiated my adoption into the Clan properly, so it’s that too now.”

“Lots of booze?”

“Aayla’s safe?”

“She’s with her friend Xiaam and Master J’Mikel. She’s staying the night. And Master Tholme’s there if something happens.”

“I’ll buy you a drink and introduce you to some people, but no Force and no Jedi talk, ok.”

“Absolutely.  Lets go party.”

.

.

.

The next morning, Obi-Wan woke with Quin passed out on his sofa, happy he’d filtered the worst of the alcohol before the hangover could get too bad.

He made some Shig for himself, and sent a comm to  Jango to ask how bad his hangover was.

He'd have sent one to Kenza, but she’d left with  La’a , and he wasn’t risking the consequences of interrupting that.

Jango returned it quickly with a holovid of himself, eyes red and strained with tiredness, clearly tired but not looking too worse for wear, trying to detangle the thin wire metal crown out of his hair, where Obi-Wan had succeeded in putting it the night before. It was accompanied by a :^( and a question on how he was. He took a few seconds to shoot off a response then decided to start getting ready.

Knowing Aayla would be likely show up soon looking for her missing Master, he decided to make sure Quin was at the very least awake, shoving the man off the sofa and hauling him off towards the Fresher so he’d be ready for the day.

And if he had a  holo of Quin with ‘ di’kut ’ on his forehead, Quin didn’t need to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> aliik- sigil  
> bes'kad- beskar sabres  
> Goran- metalsmith  
> Buire- parents  
> Manda'yaim- Mandalore (the planet)  
> shebs- buttocks, arse, ass, butt, (Imma just list words for anus here)  
> buy'ce- helmets  
> Mando'ade- Mandalorians  
> Shereshoy- lust for life, also the name of the Club   
> Oya- let's hunt, let's live, big cheer.  
> verde- soldiers  
> Jetii- Jedi (singular)  
> Vor'e- thanks  
> Buir- parent  
> di'kut- idiot
> 
> I've said it before and I'll say it again, Quin is the kind of friend everyone needs.  
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> Please R+R.


	12. The missions begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neeewwww chapter...  
> I don't own Star Wars.  
> Please enjoy.

Shadow work and bounty hunting was easier than Obi-Wan expected, though he supposed the Force was a bit of a cheat for the latter. 

After 1 month of healing and 3 solid months of training, he was finally cleared for Shadow missions.

As well as his sabre, he had his blasters, his  kal , his armour crafted by Goran  Delstee , to the envy of Quin who wished he’d followed him to Little  Keldabe years ago and made friends on the chance he’d have  access to such well-crafted armour.

To wear his armour, and to join the clan, he’d had to swear the Resol’nare. He'd done so a few days after the party, but it would be a lie to say it hadn’t been something of a challenge. He could not swear to the Mand’alor, not properly, not without betraying his oaths and commitments to a wider Galaxy and his clan knew that. Fortunately, Anen and Rhel Delstee, the Clan Alor and her Riduur were creative thinkers.

“Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mavar.”

Education, Armour,  Defence , Family,  Mando’a and Freedom.

They knew what he planned to do with his life, they knew he was planning on doing so as both a Jedi and a Mandalorian, and they knew that following the Force or the Mand’alor, Freedom was his goal.

His first semi-mission was with Quin, a small bounty to register Ben  Delstee as a Bounty Hunter within the Guild. It was a simple bail jumper, but it did the job. 

Clan  Delstee had completely approved his using his Mandalorian name for it, and, aside from telling Master  Ti about his connections to the  Mandalorians , a conversation that had been anxiety inducing but had actually gone very well, everything went smoothly.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was a Jedi Shadow.

Ben  Delstee was a Mandalorian Bounty Hunter.

Who would every expect them to be one and the  same?

His first real mission would have been  to free  Shmi , but Jango had headed to  Tatooine months ago on their behalf to free her. She'd come to Coruscant and now had an apartment befitting her station as a Member of the ASO, their Anti-Slavery Organisation that she had joined with a righteous determination to help as many slaves as possible. Anakin had chosen to stay with the Jedi, when the offer to move in with her came up, and she was so proud of him for it.

Their Organisation was taking time to make sure everything was in order, but the Jedi task force wasn’t waiting for the set up to be complete and a few weeks after being cleared, and only one after registering as a bounty hunter, he’d uncovered and broken up a small slave ring on the lower levels of Coruscant, dealing primarily with kids.

Padmé had helped, as had the fresh-faced and determined Senator Bail Organa and the new Anti-Slavery Organisation they were setting up to run alongside and very closely with the Jedi’s own task force, which he and Quin were both part of. Aayla too, once she was cleared for field duties, and even now she helped put together information packets in the Archives and assisted in the parts of investigations and work done within the Temple. 

It was headed by Master Dooku, his grandmaster.

Who he’d never had the chance to meet until Naboo, thanks to disagreements between him and Master  Jinn. Who had apparently been getting updates on him anyway from his own friends, Master Nu or Master  Drallig . Who wanted to work with him, to spend time with  him...

Master Dooku was... kind. 

He hadn’t expected it, between the things said by his Master, and the rumours through the Temple, he’d expected someone harsh, aloof.

It wasn’t to say that he wasn’t, but they  was a kindness to him he just hadn’t expected. 

Master Dooku was strict but encouraging,  especially when Obi-Wan asked if he’d be willing to teach him some  Makashi . It had felt as though Master Dooku hadn’t expected him to ask to learn, but was very happy to teach him, even if he did not voice it. Whose corrections were not cruel, when he taught, as many interpreted them to be, but instead born of a protectiveness. If they had the skills, they were less likely to die, and if he was taking the time to train with you and correct your mistakes, he cared enough to want you to survive.

There was more than that, they had a lot in common, and seeing as they were working together it made sense that they’d meet up. He hadn’t expected such attention or kindness from Master Dooku, but both were there to see.

Especially given how often he was being invited over for tea or to spar now.

To Master Jinn’s horror.

Master Jinn...

If he managed to repair their broken bond, he’d be  stunned .

There had been tension, for months since returning from Naboo, it had been growing. The conversation he’d hoped to have to talk over what had happened on the mission, with Anakin, with the Sith, he never had the chance.

Qui-Gon wouldn’t see him.

He tried to be understanding, reasonable, calm. Tried to understand that for one reason or another, Master Jinn could no longer see his light. 

But he’d been making progress, he’d thought. His messages were being read, even if they weren’t receiving a response, Qui-Gon had seemed more willing to be reasonable, and maybe even to listen. Even Master Dooku had thought they would reconcile.

But then Master Jinn had caught him with Anakin in the Creche. 

He'd simply been doing one of his stints there, which were working wonders on his soul, hense why they were so often prescribed to Jedi who needed just to be able to bathe in the innocent warm and happy light that younglings weren’t knowledgeable or skilled enough to shield it away. It leaked out and flooded the creches, creating possibly the most peaceful, light, centred places in the Universe. 

“You stay away from him!” Master Jinn had growled, cornering him less than three hallways away, “I won’t let you corrupt him.”

“I would not...”

“No!  Xanatos corrupted you, you met him too young, and his darkness stained you. I had hoped with training, with your choice to put others in front of your own, you would be saved, but I was wrong. I will not let you do the same to Ani.”

“ Xanatos did not corrupt me!”

“You were always too angry, always to brash and emotional. If you’d been kept safe in the light, you might have been fine, but you were exposed to the darkness, to him and to slavery and to piracy and death, it got into your soul. It wasn’t your fault but it happened and I won’t let it happen again.”

“My soul is still Light, Master, please, just look.”

“I do not need to; I can see it plainly. Even in the clothes you wear, the sabre you carry. Souls cannot change that much, Padawan, lightsabres don’t just change colour, except when a Jedi has fallen.”

“But...”

“You drew on the Dark to save me and kill the Sith! Even if you’re Light today, or making it look like you are, you have the darkness in you, you drew on it, you’ll do it again. I will not let you bring down any of our Younglings with you.”

Master Jinn had stormed off, and the few observers their argument had attracted dispersed quickly.

He'd hoped that would be the end of it.

Two days later he’d received notice that he was indefinitely added to the No-padawans list.

He was furious.

The list was designed for Jedi who were not stable enough for Padawans or missions, for Master’s who’d gotten their padawans killed and been declared responsible, or Masters who were medically unfit, like Master  Sifo Dias, who’s visions made it impossible for him to take guardianship of another, or Jedi who’d brushed the dark too many times. Truthfully, it was incredibly hard to actually be put on the list, at least on such a potentially long-term basis, and only a handful of Jedi were on it.

He had done nothing to deserve it.

He had done nothing on the list.

He was stable, as cited by his own Mind Healers, he had never had a padawan, so he could not have failed them, and he was medically fit.

He had not touched the darkness.

He hadn’t even been allowed a chance to fight his own case.

His door buzzed, and for just a second, he considered just not opening it.

But he wasn’t rude enough to send his Grandmaster away, and whether this was going to be good or bad, some things shouldn’t be avoided.

“Master Dooku.”

“I'm so sorry.”

He sighed. He didn’t need Master Dooku to say what he was sorry for, but he wanted to know why.

“How did this happen?”

“Master Jinn has reported that you drew on the Dark Side on Naboo, and without another explanation as to how you summoned that energy, many on the Council were inclined to agree. Know that I was not alone in voting in your favour, but we were outvoted.”

“If I have drawn on the Dark once, I'll be hooked like an addict, and that makes me a danger to a padawan solely in my care?”

“Unfortunately, that is how too many of my  colleagues have seen it.”

“Can I continue creche duties?”

“At the moment, no, but that may be easier to overturn.”

“What... what can I do?”

“For now, run missions. In two years, you’ll be able to appeal the padawan block, but that itself will take a long time, you’ll be Temple Bound, and it may still not go in your favour. I'll talk to Master Yoda and Master Windu about the creches. ”

He slumped into his chair.

He didn’t necessarily want a padawan, at least not in the next two years, but it was unfair, insulting. He understood the measure, the younglings were rightly the most protected people in the whole Order, and any potential threat had to be assessed, but that didn’t really remove the sting. That so many were convinced that he was dark.

That Qui-Gon believed him dark.

“I didn’t... it wasn’t dark Master. Any extra energy I needed was light, and most of it was my own.”

“I know, Obi-Wan, I know. I worry about Qui-Gon, the boy I raised, I would never have believed would do this.”

“ Xanatos hit him hard. He thinks my exposure to  Xanatos so young is what has caused this in me, and he doesn’t want me near Anakin now. I want to make up with him, but he can’t seem to see past this, I don’t know what to do. If Xan was dead, he might have been able to find peace with it, but as long as he’s out there...”

“I wish I had advice for you.  Xanatos may have indeed been a breaking point, but I'd guess for him, not for you. I am going to recommend Qui-Gon be given a censure and mandatory sessions with a Mind Healer, but I do not know if he will go, or if it will help if he doesn’t try.”

“He doesn’t even know about the  Mandalorian thing...”

“Worst comes to worst, we’ll say it was for a mission.”

“Qui-Gon doesn’t even know I’m a Shadow.”

“No, most Jedi won’t. But my hope, and Master Ti’s, is that it won’t come to that. If he’s keeping track, all he needs to know is that you’re working with the Senate and also in the field. To that point, Queen Amidala has contacted us to tell you our meeting has had to be moved to midday.”

“Thanks for letting me know. I'll be ready.”

Most of what he’d been doing since he’d been cleared for missions was actually desk work at this point, helping set up their Anti-Slavery committee and programs. There was a lot of paperwork involved, where were they getting supplies or transports, where would  freed slaves go, how would  freed slaves get citizenships and would they be able to track down families? How best were they going to persecute Slavers, were they getting their own lawyers for the team or would they need to hire each time? What methods could they employ to find the illegalities behind the too-perfect files most of the Slave Empires were smart enough to have?

It was a lot to work out, but they’d taken to it with passion and vigour.

It took him a second to realise Master Dooku had distracted him, successfully, and he was glad of it. The man didn’t give any hint of what he’d done, or that he knew he’d done it, browsing something on his  padd , but Obi-Wan was  grateful . After all, there was nothing he could actually do.

Qui-Gon was worried about what he’d do, because when  Xanatos had left, when he’d Fallen, he’d ended up with a slave empire. Now Obi-Wan was taking an  interest in slavers, to capture them, not join them, but with the way Qui-Gon's mind seemed to be twisting everything, Force, if Qui-Gon accused him of using freeing the slaves as an excuse to start his own empire, well, one, how had he failed his Master so, and two, how unoriginal...

If he was going to go evil, he wasn’t just going to follow his brother’s route. Where would the style or renown be in that?

“Well,” started Master Dooku lowering the padd, “let’s hope we’ll have some good starting destinations for the newly freed slaves. How you’ve managed to put this together, Obi-Wan... you are a credit to our lineage.”

“Thank you, but I've only been a small part of it. The rest of the Jedi in the group,  Padmé’s passion, Bail’s resources... and  Shmi’s help has been invaluable, I didn’t know about the slave chips nor the best ways to deal with them. My experience is with collars, though I suppose for slaves that you expect to have life spans, they’re better to hide than the collars, and a better investment.”

He caught himself brushing his neck, and saw Dooku mask his frown before he headed through the arch to turn the kettle on.

Obi-Wan joined him, taking some small calmness in the process of making the tea. Behot, he’d decided on, while his Grandmaster rolled his eyes and went for the Jasmine.

“Can I take a mission, Grandmaster?”

“Do you have anything in mind?”

“Not one of the short stings, something longer. I’ll likely need to build my reputation as a Bounty Hunter, and perhaps now is the time. Grandmaster, I'm not doing well here in the Temple, I’m... stagnating, most Shadows go out for a few months on their own at this point. Once we’ve finished the major set-up tasks...”

“You’d like to Wander for a while. I understand,  grandpadawan mine. It’s very normal, and there are many Jedi to whom the wider Galaxy calls. It might take another month or two more, but once we’re finished, I will absolutely authorise it. You’ll obviously have to check in on a semi-regular basis, if only so we know you’re alive and safe, and I assume you’ll likely have backup in the form of some of your  Mandalorians ?”

“I will. Now that they know Ben  Delstee is a Bounty Hunter, a few of them are asking for me to join them.”

“Get out of the Temple, see the galaxy, save some lives, stop some killers, re-centre yourself. There’s no shame in needing it. And you have earnt it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> kal- Mandalorian dagger  
> Goran- metalsmith  
> Resol'nare- Six tenants of Mandalorian culture  
> Mand'alor- Sole Ruler  
> Clan Alor- leader of the clan  
> riduur- spouse  
> Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, Ara'now, aliit, Mando'a bal Mavar- Education and Armour, Defence, Family, Mando'a and Freedom.  
> Behot- mandalorian tea-like herbal infusion.
> 
> I'm sorry...but hey, away from the Temple we go.  
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed, as always.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> Please R+R.


	13. What is tax evasion?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update. Baby's first bounty.  
> I don't own Star Wars.  
> Please enjoy.

He worked his first bounty alongside Jango less than two weeks after starting his Wander.

Once the ASO, Anti-Slavery Organisation, was as set up as it could be, he’d donned his armour, packed a bag and headed out. With the money from bounties and the stipend they were given, he’d been able to buy a ship. More accurately he’d been able to choose one of the ships the Order owned as his own, name it, and take that. After all, if he was going to be out Wandering, he needed transport.

His ship was small, with a cockpit and a main room, with cupboards on the walls, some of which took supplies or armour or weapons, others that were actually a bedroom or the fresher. 

Between the Jedi and his Clan, he’d picked up a rather sizable armoury and more than enough food. 

He met with Jango in a Space Port in the Yavin System.

The Force sung.

Like always.

He joined his friend in the hanger, looking up at his new ship.

“She’s...nice.”

“Thanks, she needs a name.”

“How about Rust Bucket?”

“I was thinking Fireball-To-Be. Or just Rusty Deathtrap.”

“Oh, I like that. I've missed  you, Ben.”

“You too, Jango. I mean, we’ve been in near  constant communication, but...”

“ Oh grow up, you know what I meant.”

“It’s been too long since we’ve been in the same room, I know.”

“Nice armour, the paint works. Suits you.”

His armour may have been Cortosis-durasteel blend, but Goran Delstee had insisted it be painted as all beskar’gam was. After all, it was actually quite rare to have pure beskar beskar’gam. 

His was mostly blue for reliability and black for justice, with black vambraces that had orange trims for lust for life. The pauldron with the Delstee Anooba was yellow and black and he had a black buy’ce with an orange trim and a blue kute. The only thing at all that could mark him as a Jedi, was the scarlet symbol on his vambraces, a wingless Jedi Order symbol. Scarlet for defiance.

Jango's was, apparently, almost unchanged from when he’d first completed his verd’gotten, except the size. A bright mix of green and red, with the same mix of yellow and black to make up the pauldron except his had the  mythosaur , and a grey kute.

“Thanks, what's the Bounty?”

“Rich  shabuir called Tut  Skarron who’s lied about and messed with his taxes for three years in a row. He's living in a shack in the forests below.”

“Tut Skarron of  Skarron Industries?”

“Thats the one.”

“Lovely, shall we.”

“My ship, not yours.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes behind the visor and grabbed his stuff, following behind. They'd already agreed they were sharing a ship for this mission, rather than waste fuel credits, and, knowing Jango’s ship was superior, had already paid to dock it in a safe secure port with nothing too valuable on board. 

Besides, Yavin was a pretty safe port, he had a good feeling his ship would still be there when he got back.

“Don’t worry, Ben, it looks one kick from falling to pieces, no-one's gonna steal it.”

“Very funny.”

“Seriously, how did you survive the trip here?”

“Skilled piloting, you know, maybe I should fly.”

“You hate flying.”

“I hate bad flying.”

They both settled in the cockpit, after a mock fight for the  pilot's seat, and Obi-Wan buzzed with excitement.

He'd dreamed of running missions with Jango, so to finally be able to do it was amazing.

But they’d only fought besides each other once, on Bandomeer, and although they’d sparred before, a lot, against each other or together against other verde, they’d never done anything like this.

It was going to take time to adapt.

Still, that’s why they were starting on easy bounties, people who likely wouldn’t have protection or be good fighters. Low level threats. Hopefully.

It was a short flight to the surface, but a longer one navigating the forests to find a place to land. The closest, unfortunately, was miles away from the target’s bolt-hole. He had the feeling Jango was going to  drag the man over every rock and root on the path to get back at him for making them walk that far.

Jedi, of course, didn’t crave revenge, and he did actually enjoy being in the forest surrounded by trees and wildlife.

Then again, it was an unnecessarily long walk, and the man had avoided his taxes then ran off, hiding in the middle of no where .

Mandalorians , they were allowed revenge. He'd let himself have a little, if Jango decided on it.

“You should know bounties aren’t often like this.”

“Quiet, peaceful walks in the woods?”

“I wish there were more like these, usually there’s someone shooting at me.”

They both paused for a second, like they were expecting a gunshot, but none came.

“Usually,” Obi-Wan admitted, “this is where someone shoots me.”

“Oh yeah, same here.”

“Lovely walk though, finally a planet where most of the wildlife isn’t trying to kill me.”

“And an actual trodden path, I love it.”

“You think he’ll be armed? We are a little far away to be shot, but in an hour or so..."

“Tax evaders are fun missions, but you can’t let your guard down completely. Sometimes they’re unarmed saddos, sometimes they’re armed to the teeth and have bodyguards. Intel suggests this guy is the former, but he might have a pistol or something, so don’t drop your guard.”

“Fun. How exactly do people even evade taxes? I thought they were automatically deducted from pay checks before you got the money or something.”

“Or something?”

“How should I know? Jedi don’t pay taxes.” 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“We’re a Religious Organisation, we’re a Neutral party who have owned the property on Coruscant that we have longer than Coruscant’s been home to the Republic, we have a treaty with them, but we’re not their citizens. If  we were, we’d have a vote and a seat in the Senate.”

“Wow, ok. It's basically employers lying about assets, damages, employees and hours worked, money earnt, things like that. They lie about things that determine taxes, and try to do so, so they can pay less.”

“You sound unsure?”

“I’m Royalty, Ben, I don’t pay taxes either, and I'm a Mandalorian Bounty Hunter, so definitely not Republic taxes.”

“Two people with Tax Exempt Status arrest a third for tax evasion, that sounds just great when you say it aloud.”

.

.

.

“You seemed to know Skarron’s name?”

“There were rumours he had links to  OffWorld , but if  Offworld and  Skarron Industries are tied, no-one's ever been able to prove it. Then again, no-one's ever managed to prove  OffWorld owns slaves or poisons planets.”

“I can’t believe no- one's ever managed to get  Xanatos for what he did.”

“He’s an excellent liar. My brother is a vile man, but he’s very smart. It's how he’s survived so long, there’s no proof, nothing but circumstance or  inadmissible evidence, or witnesses that never make it to the trial.”

“You think he’s going to try something again, go after you again.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence he shut down the worst of his projects and stopped his attacks the same time  Kyr’tsad went into hiding. But I'll be ready. I'm not 13 anymore, if he comes, he’s going to learn I can hold my own.”

“ So after this you’ll investigate  Skarron again? See if you can’t find something?”

“I think I'd like to see  Xani’s face when he realises his little brother is dismantling a network he doesn’t think people think exists.”

“If you get a lead, I want in. He tried to use me to hurt you, least I can do is thank him for the introduction before I break his nose.”

“Let’s get  Skarron first, then work from there.”

“Scanner says it’s just around the next bend, we should be there soon.”

The scanner was right, but the intel, not so much.

The ‘shack’ as Jango had described it, was not a shack. 

It was a luxury cabin. It was huge, well decorated and in brilliant condition. Hells, the bushes they were crouched behind were cut like Lothcats, freshly cut.

“ Kriff me, if he could afford this...”

“This is probably the money he didn’t pay into his taxes, Jango.”

“You think? Any ideas on how to get in?”

“You’re the Bounty Hunter. You think he’ll have guards?”

“No, no there's nothing in his finances that suggests he has bodyguards on the payroll.”

“But we should be aware of the chance?”

“Can’t you just use the Force to see how many people are inside?”

He could indeed.

Shifting from crouched to cross-legged, he closed his eyes and reached out. Jango was next to him, the  beskar muffling his presence, but not muting it. He could still feel Jango shining like a star, like looking at a sun with sunglasses on. 

There were so many living things around them, hives of bees, nests of ants, birds in the trees, something deerlike a few meters away, FOCUS, into the building, mice in the roof, a nest of convors, 5 humanoids, was that a wolf?

“Ben?”

“Five.”

“Five?”

“Five. And a wolf, maybe.”

“A shack, he said... kriffing shabuir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Goran- metal smith  
> beskar'gam- mandalorian armour  
> buy'ce- helmet  
> kute- under armour bodysuit  
> verd'goten- Mandalorian coming of age trial.  
> shabuir- bastard  
> verde- soldiers  
> Kyr'tsad- Death Watch
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.  
> I don't know what I'm calling Obi-Wan's ship yet, so ideas are welcome. I was considering something like Shadow Bird, but honestly, I have no idea.  
> Also, for the tax conversation, I was cackling, and also had to google how tax evasion works, haha.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> Please R+R.


	14. Five people and a wolf?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update.  
> I don't own Star Wars.  
> Please enjoy.

Five people and a wolf.

It was not how Jango was expecting this bounty to go, and part of him wondered if he should blame Obi-Wan or apologise. He wasn’t sure whether this was his bad luck or Obi’s but seeing as Obi-Wan preached that there was no such thing as luck, he was probably going to take the blame.

“We go in together, watch each other's backs, move through slowly and cautiously. We find Skarron, we tackle any bodyguards, we treat stick with each other and stay safe. If he takes the back door or a window any escape route, we’re miles from anywhere, but we should be fine.”

“I think some may be civilians. He's record said he has servants, and these topiaries, they’re freshly pruned. Given how long it’s been since the records said he was here, these are recent.”

“Topiaries? Can’t just say bushes?”

“I like plants, and bushes aren’t shaped like things, topiaries are. Either way there’s a chance one of those people could be a gardener.”

“One  bad guy , one wolf, one gardener and three unknowns. Ok, same plan applies. Ready?”

“Ready.”

They moved through the garden together, shielded from the house by bushes and the powerful and very useful notice-me-not suggestion he could just about sort of feel Obi-Wan wrapping around them both, making it to the door without arousing any suspicion from the people inside, at least as far as Obi-Wan was aware. With a nod, Jango opened the unlocked door.

Unlocked.

Some people, honestly.

The inside was as lavishly decorated as the outside, vases, paintings, statues of  people's heads.

“Wow, this is ‘The broken dusk.’ by  T’marae Yurb.”

He shot his partner a look, knowing that even with the  Buy’ce on, he’d work out Jango’s meaning. Judging by Obi-Wan’s tone, he got the message.

“It was stolen from a gallery six years ago. It's worth billions.”

He looked up at the painting, a beach front at, as it was named, dusk, with powerful storm clouds across the sky and a bolt of lightning cutting through the centre of the painting, waves whipped up by the storm. It wasn’t his sort of thing, but he could admire it as a painting.

“So, he’s been stealing paintings or buying stolen ones, we probably won't get extra money for that though.”

“Sucks to be us.”

“Proves our theory on him being scum though.”

They continued to move through the building, and he paused as Obi-Wan raised his hand,  signalling stop.

“What is it?”

“Someone’s in the next hallway, no idea if they’re hostile.”

Thank  kriff for internal comms. He knew how weird it was to see people having a conversation and hear no sound because they were wearing buy’ce, but it was so helpful.

“3?”

“2,”

“1,”

“Go.”

Through the door, weapons raised.

A tray clattered to the ground as the girl raised her hands, eyes wide, shrinking herself.

She looked about 20, she was Rodian, and she had golden cuffs on her wrists. 

She didn’t make a sound, other than the tray, shaking her head.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok.”

Obi-Wan's voice next to him was calming, and they both lowered their weapons.

“Are you... here to get me out?”

“We’re here to arrest  Skarron , but if we can help.”

“I’m... he bought me a few years ago. Please, I just want to go home.”

“You’re a slave?”

She nodded, still shaking.

“Ok, it’s ok, my name is Ben, and as well as hunting bounties, I take down slavers, I have friends that can help you get home, get your chip out, all of that. Are there other slaves here?”

She nodded, taking a deep breath, then,

“Yes, two others, and Jaidi, he’s not a slave with a chip and everything, he’s  Skarron’s son, but he’s just as scared as the  rest of us. I... I'm Zaania.”

Ok, one far  more evil than first thought criminal, and four slaves, basically.

And maybe a wolf.

“Oh, and he has Kiri. She's a wolf, he hurts her, so she can lash out, but she's sweet, she cares for us, nuzzles at where our chips are. Please try not to hurt her.”

Definitely a wolf.

Hey Obi-Wan, come with me for an easy bounty, it’ll be fun and mostly safe.

Kriffing hells, this was going to do wonders for their friendship.

“I will. Zaania, do you want me to kill the chip now, so it won't go off.”

“You can’t remove it?”

“Not right now. But once we get out of here, we can.”

“Please. Please. Kill it.”

Jango hadn’t even known there were devices like these to destroy the chip’s functions, but it was useful. It meant the  shabuir couldn’t kill her before they could free her. He was  definitely going to have to talk to Obi about getting one for himself. She pointed to a spot and he scanned it and that was that.

“Get somewhere safe, we’re going to get Skarron. Do you know which room he’s in?”

“Yes, but the others will all be in the kitchen. Could you help them first?”

So, they were following  Zaania to find the other slaves to free them first, and it felt right.

This was what Obi-Wan did, this was what any good person should do, this is what he was going to do more of.

The slaves were all together, as Zaania had predicted, and the promise of freedom had done wonders, giving them energy. Losing the chips had fuelled their ability to stay quiet, still and out of the way.  Skarron's son Jaidi was  timid and had an anger-inducing number of bruises. He wanted freedom too, and Jango hoped he’d end up somewhere safe.

All that was left was Skarron.

And Kiri.

“I’ll take the wolf, you take the demagolka.”

“You sure you’re good with it, Ben?”

“I’m good with animals. You take him, I'll take the wolf.”

“3?”

“2,”

“1,”

“Breach.”

Jango's first stun shot missed by a fraction as the man leapt up at the noise although he didn’t have a weapon himself.

The second one sent him into the wall, out cold, but not before he’d yelled for Kiri to attack,  to kill. Trusting Obi-Wan to have it under control, he vaulted the sofa and cuffed the man before he could wake.

Standing and turning, he couldn’t help but laugh.

Obi-Wan had his  buy’ce off, and was on the floor, crooning, with the wolf’s head on his lap, stroking it’s fur, mindful of the little cuts and bruises it had suffered.

“Oh, it's ok, you’re ok, sweetheart, it’ll be ok.”

“You... having fun... over there?”

“Oh, Jango, she’s harmless, look at her. She’s a little sore, but she’s going to be ok. I'm helping keep her calm but she doesn’t want to hurt anyone. Once she’s healed, she could probably have a place in the Temple, or somewhere similar.”

“In the Temple? A wolf?”

“We have a few therapy animals, and you should see the frog population in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, or the birds. We have several animals far more dangerous than a wolf, and it also helps initiates learn how to hone abilities like mine. Hells, I was raising a  Krayt Dragon before she got  too big.”

A dragon. A  Krayt Dragon. Raising a  Krayt Dragon. No, he was not getting into that one. Not today anyway. He was pretty sure he needed booze for that story.

“Calming animals?”

“Calming, communicating with, all sorts.”

“Ok,” he said, shaking his head and throwing  Skarron over his shoulder, “you take Kiri, we’ll get the  ade and go back to the ship.”

“I’ll comm ASO, see if we can’t get a team here to help out.”

“I’m dragging him if he gets to heavy or one of the  ade wants to be carried instead. It's a long walk.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at him, and they made their way to find the  ade and leave this otherwise beautiful planet.

Half way down the route, Neela, a tiny  Twi’Lek who  couldn't be more than 12, decided her legs were tired. 

Jango carried her on his shoulder, and  Skarron hit every rock and root as promised.

.

.

.

“Hey Obes.”

“Hey Quin.”

“Checking in? How'd it go?”

“Great, we apprehended our bounty, and I'm sure you’re aware we called for ASO help.”

“And yet you’re using that tone?”

“What tone?”

“The somethings wrong tone?"

“Why is my life like this? Every time. We came to collect a tax evader, turns out he owns slaves, abuses his kid, abuses his animals and buys stolen artwork and probably a whole load else.”

“It’s always you.”

“ Yes it is . And, well,  Skarron was someone we thought had connections to OffWorld, though we never had proof.”

“You want me to get someone on it?”

“Please . How's Aayla doing?”

“Fine, but she’s decided she’s doing a course on Jar’kai.”

“Oh no, really.”

“I seem to remember you loving trying Jar’kai.”

“For Shien and  Soresu , not Ataru. Besides, I know you didn’t... get on with it.”

“She’s thinking about using Djem  So. ”

“Suffer, Quin.”

“I loathe all the  Soresu forms, all of them.”

“ Oh I know. Next time we meet up, I'll be happy to give her a hand.”

“If you  encourage her, I might stab you.”

“I have to go, bye Quin.”

“Bye Obes.”

Obi-Wan dropped down from the cockpit to see Jango sitting one some boxes he hadn’t seen before, buy’ce off.

“ Checking in?”

“Mandatory, but it was only Quin.”

Jango patted on the other box of something he hadn’t remembered having either and he sank down onto it, dropping his head against a cabinet, accepting the drink Jango passed him.

“You know, my ship is bigger.”

“Mines going to fall apart.”

“Yeah, she’s got that going for her.”

The bottlenecks clinked and they both laughed.

“ What's with the boxes?”

“Thought you might need some supplies, maybe... ok yeah fine, one of them has grenades and one has pillows and blankets.”

“Which am I sitting on?”

“Kriff knows.”

“I could check with the Force. I could, but I can’t be bothered.”

“All that power... but laziness wins.”

“Always. I’m happy the kids and Kiri are safely in the hands of the ASO, but I'm also glad they’re gone. A big part of my Wander was supposed to be that I wasn’t constantly checking in with the Temple.”

“Well now you can wander to your hearts content, and I'd be happy to tag along. After all I have a ship that isn’t falling apart.”

“She’s not entirely falling apart.”

Jango banged his hand against the pipe and it hissed slightly.

“Stop breaking my ship.”

“I’m thinking I buy some duct tape and we wrap her up before she breaks.”

“She’s fine if you aren’t punching her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> buy'ce- helmet  
> shabuir- bastard  
> demagolka- child abuser, war criminal, bad insult.  
> ade- children
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> Please R+R.


	15. Gaining Confidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update, whoop whoop.  
> We get some more lore here, and some plot. Yay.  
> I don't own Star Wars.  
> Please enjoy.

His next bounty was with Kenza.

He hadn’t expected to run a bounty with her, mainly because she was gunning for the position of  Al’verde in Little  Keldabe , but apparently even she took breaks sometimes.

Their bounty was a little more exciting than his bounty with Jango, as in they were shot at a lot more. A ‘presumed’ petty thief had paid bail and skipped court, but his ‘presumed’ gang connections had scared off many of the regular low level bounty hunters who took bail jumpers.

It always amazed and horrified Obi-Wan how different the lower levels of Coruscant were to the upper, and it was sickening too, but what could they do.

There weren’t enough Jedi to help everyone, change needed to come from the people who could manage it.

If a few more people stopped expecting the Jedi to fix everything and actually started working on things themselves, they might actually help change things, like the ASO.

One of his favourite things about the  Mandalorians was that they didn’t wait for someone else to deal with slavers or drug smugglers on their planets, they sent  verde and they  intervened .

A few more planets and cultures doing that instead of waiting for a couple of Jedi, who wouldn’t be able to do much anyway if there were only one or two of them alone, they might actually be able to eradicate crime and drug smuggling and all forms of trafficking in the Galaxy.

In the end, two  Mandalorians against a gang was hardly a fair fight, the gang members under-armed and clearly not matching up to anyone trained on real combat.

The biggest fear the two of them had was that civilians would get hurt once the shooting started, because the members of gangs in areas like this rarely cared for who they shot in the processes. Protecting civilians would be as much a part of catching this man as actually getting him. Obi-Wan took a lead on getting them out of the way, though both of them were yelling for people to get down as they went, and if he used the Force a little to make sure bullets and blaster bolts didn’t hit anyone, who’d ever  believe it.

The Coruscant security forces didn’t arrive until after the shooting had stopped, and they had their man in custody. 

He loathed the way the civilians feared the security forces as much as they feared the criminals, maybe more so than the gang members.

It was a different world.

Following that he spent a few months almost never staying on any planet for more than a few days, helping security groups dismantle slave groups as a Jedi or as a Mandalorian.

The longest missions he took involved infiltrating groups as a gun for hire, often with one or two other Mando’ade from Little Keldabe, using the ASO’s connections for every slave they freed.

He worked with Jango a few times, and with Quin, and Siri too, on one occasion, dealt with criminals, rescued people, started making contacts and gaining allies,  mapping out a lay of the Galaxy he’d never had before.

He'd never felt freer.

He'd never felt lighter.

Suddenly and amazingly, six months had passed, and he was returning to the Temple for his first official  check up . 

There was something, fantastic, about the way he felt as he entered the Temple.

Not like after  Melida /Daan, where he’d returned with a new confidence in himself, but also a new fear of the wider universe and all the flinches and twitches that came with 8 months of war and hiding to survive.

No, this was just, confidence, he supposed. He simply felt... good, strong, alive.

He was a Jedi, and through his career as a Jedi, he’d helped hundreds, thousands of people. Every election they’d overseen, every Senator they’d protected, every slave ring or drug cartel they’d dealt a blow to, even things like  Melida /Daan and  Bandomeer , awful as they’d been, had been helping people.

But, strange as it was, he finally felt like he was actually making a difference.

Master Kander claimed it was pretty normal for Knights to feel this way. That being a student sometimes made the missions feel less real, because you’d still have  astronav first thing the next  morning once you came back, because you still had someone guiding you.

Master Kander also theorised that it had something to do with his plan. He'd set up the ASO, he was making bridges with the  Mandalorians , yeah, Master Kander knew about that, he had a genuine plan for what he wanted to do to help the galaxy, one he’d likely had since  Bandomeer or Melida/Daan, and now, finally, pieces were falling into place.

He was making contacts, allies, enemies, he was starting to make a small dent in the activity of the slavers, so little in the wider view, but noticeable to them and to his allies. He was actually working towards his goal, and things were coming together.

Whatever the reason, he wasn’t slouching his shoulders as he walked, wasn’t trying to be small anymore, as Master Kander had bluntly put it. He was finding himself, finding his own inner  strength and confidence.

He'd left Master Kander’s office with a schedule of creche duties, meditations and other remedial things to help him ‘buff out’ the small dents  the darkness he’d been exposed to had tried to make. As always, it had done the minimal amount, baffling his Soul healer a little, but he’d never say no to Creche duties.

Even if the creche masters watched him constantly.

Between Master Kander, Master Dooku, Master Windu, Master Plo and Master Drallig, his ban from the creches had been revoked, to his utter joy.

Apparently Master  Drallig reminding the council of his stamina with  Soresu had put some of their minds at ease about where he’d gathered his energy. Not all, but enough to let him back into the creches.

He sensed someone like Yoda might have been meddling, and maybe Masters Mundi or Poof too. Masters who didn’t particularly like the fiasco caused by  Melida /Daan, hadn’t wanted to accept him back. But there were Masters who liked him too, and it was good to know  they had his back.

His first stop was not Anakin’s creche, no, as much as he loved his brother to be, he didn’t need Master Jinn’s ire when he’d only just managed this small success.

Instead, he joined Master  Plo who was heading to the creches, deciding that if he was with a Master, no-one would worry so much. 

Master  Plo didn’t take padawans anymore, between his work with the Council and the habitational challenges that came with his being Kel Dor, but he adored spending time in the creches. He'd been Obi-Wan's favourite when he’d been an initiate.

They ended up with the  Clawmouse clan, spending time playing push feather and colouring and just having fun.

“So,” Master  Plo had asked upon leaving, “What did you think of Initiate Tano?”

“She’s very bright. She's also three.”

“I found her on  Shili a few months ago. I sense she has a bright path ahead of her.”

“Master  Plo , is this you considering taking a padawan?”

“ Unfortunately not, but I think you’re matched rather well.”

“I’m not allowed a Padawan, Master  Plo . You were there when the Council ruled on it.”

“The Council makes mistakes, many mistakes, and some of us know you. We know you’re a brilliant Jedi, and you will one day be a  brilliant Master. Besides, it's like you said, she’s 3. That’s 7/8 years before you’d be able to take her on anyway.”

“I make no promises.”

“Of course not.”

Unfortunately, not everything was as bright as the creches, because it was also Nun Kyl Drazen.

Nun Kyl Drazen, often shortened to just Nun Drazen, was a Jedi Holiday, similar to the  Wookiee’s Life Day or the Naboo Festival of Light. It was simply the New Year by Jedi standards, and while there was very little in the way of official celebrations, it was typically a time when Shadows and Watchmen would try to get back to the Temple if they could. Similarly, there were special meditations most Jedi joined in on, a few dances and performances set up through the Temple, decorations strung about the halls, created in art classes by centuries of Jedi.

There were also a few prank wars throughout the week, which were brilliant fun, as long as you weren't the victim.

The best part of in Obi-Wan's opinion was the eve before Nun Drazen, where Senior Padawans or Knights or Masters would get together with their creches and friends and descend on the bars and clubs of the city. Quin had jokingly suggested they go to Shereshoy, introduce the rest of their creche to Mandalorian alcohols, but he’d shut that down. It could only end badly.

His creche had been doing it since each of them had been the legal age to drink, the one thing even Luminara’s master had been ok with, and Nara’s master was as strict as Qui-Gon had been, stricter  in some cases. The two of them were officially the best at sneaking around the Temple because neither of them had ever had much room to go out alone. They knew all the passageways, Obi-Wan's favourite hadn’t been used in over 1000 years before he’d rediscovered it if he was right, and let out about three blocks from Little  Keldabe .

He and his friends usually started Nun Drazen Eve by going to the movies and watching whatever the new trashy Jedi love story flick was, then getting drunk to forget how awful and inaccurate it had been. The only time it had ever been anything other than hilarious was the one year they realised that they were not the only Jedi in the theatre, and that Knight Fisto, Master Kolar and Master Windu were also there.

The worst part though, was the Lineage dinner.

He'd enjoyed it in the past but he got the feeling  this years was going to be the height of strained and awkward.

Master Dooku hadn’t attended a Nun Drazen meal in the entire time he’d been a Padawan, neither had his eldest brother padawan Feemor, both stationed as Watchmen or on missions. Master Yoda was always there, as was Master Windu and Knight Bilaba and master Drallig and Knight Keto. 

Oh Depa and Serra had been a  Forcesend during his  padawanship Lineage Dinners, the only ones there close to his age, even if they were both a little older than him.

The dinners themselves had been fun enough, but the tension between himself and Master Jinn... maybe instead of coming back to the Temple he could split off from his  Crechemates and hide in Little Keldabe. 

His ‘escape from the Temple’ was scheduled for three days after Nun Drazen, but he was not going to manage a whole day being civil with Master Jinn, and he knew Master Jinn wasn’t going to be able to manage to be civil with him.

He missed the man who’d raised him, who’d helped chase away his nightmares and teased and tugged on his braid and genuinely cared about him. They'd been fine before Naboo, but now it felt like he barely recognised the man. They'd argued before, but it had never been like this, the divide had never been so deep nor so seemingly irreparable. The man just didn’t feel like his Buir anymore, and he wished he knew what had changed.

If this is what it was like directly after  Xanatos fell, it was no wonder Feemor never came to the Temple anymore.

He was almost relieved when Padmé called them with a lead that needed to be acted on urgently.

He got the feeling Master Dooku was too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> al'verde- commander  
> verde- soldiers  
> Mando'ade- Mandalorians  
> Shereshoy- Lust for life- also the name of the Club
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.  
> Nun Kyl Drazen is my creation, because I needed something like it for my plot, but I've had some fun with it.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> Please R+R.


	16. Freedom to walk into an ambush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update.  
> I don't own Star Wars.  
> Please enjoy.

The best thing about bounty hunting was the freedom it offered Jango. A time where he didn’t have to be the Prince and the heir but could just be a Mandalorian bounty hunter tackling the scum in the galaxy. He could go anywhere, do anything... 

He adored Jas’Buir, and was grateful for everything Jas’Buir had done for him, but some days the responsibilities made him wish for the days he barely remembered, a child of farmers with little to no expectations upon his shoulders. Sometimes he needed to get away. 

And yes, he aimed his missions at people with connections to Offworld, or Death Watch, or just really oisk people who deserved it, but at the end of the day, it was the freedom of being alone in the galaxy, getting lost in the crowds and in the fuss, and just simply being. 

He loved it. 

But the best thing about doing bounties across Mandalorian and Republic space, was getting to work with Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan was his best and closest friend. Closer than Silas, closer than Myles, anyone. 

Obi-Wan was the person he could tell anything, the person who could tell him anything. The person he called in the evening after a hard battle, to just talk or just listen, and on happy days when something had gone well, so he could share his joy. The person who could bring a smile to his face just by being there. 

He suspected Obi-Wan took the same joy in Bounty Hunting that he did, letting go of the more formal expectations everyone had for him and just doing something, often to help others, for no reason but that they could be their true selves. 

And yeah, that meant Obi-Wan was always going to be a bit stuffy Jetii and he was always going to be a bit princely honour, but what did it matter? 

What he wouldn’t give for some Jetii magic now, stuffy or otherwise... 

The worst thing about Bounty Hunting was that sometimes things went wrong. 

Sometimes you ended up a little in over your head, crouched behind a box with no way out but a door on the other side of the facility with about 40 armed shabuir’e between you and it. 

He was never taking a bounty from Chared again, though if he died here, he supposed that was a given. 

A blaster bold caught the top of the metal crate with a clang and he ducked himself further on instinct. 

Take a bounty on this guy, said Chared, he kidnapped his niece, or so the mother/sister said. 

This was not one guy taking his sister’s kid, this was a whole kriffing demagolka organisation. 

In fact, the brother hadn’t been in on it at all, he’d been innocent and just as worried about his niece. 

A whole child slave ring, and he was alone and without backup. 

Just his luck. 

He peaked out of cover to shoot two of the demagolka then ducked back behind the box again. 

Getting in had been easy, clearing the demagolka within the facility had been easy, but getting out, that was proving a far greater challenge. 

There were almost 100 ade behind him, deeper into the facility, so he couldn’t make a run for it. He had to clear out the goons to save them, because safe as they might be with him between them and a threat, the threat was between them and the exit. And getting them safely home or at least to safety, that would be a whole other challenge, though maybe he could call in the ASO to help take care of them, because there was no way he could fit them all into his ship. 

Besides, they were Republic ade. 

Darting from one cover to the next, he managed to shoot three more of the goons, though he wasn’t sure how many of those were lethal shots. 

He also had no idea what they were saying, able to pick out the words he knew in Ryl and Hutesse, but there were other words in languages he didn’t know, and he wished not for the first time that he’d paid more attention learning languages. 

Ugh, why hadn’t he brought backup? 

Because it was a single missing child taken by their relative, not a complete kriffing child slave ring. 

There was a loud crash from outside, and blaster fire. 

Oh for the love of... could a gang war have chosen a worse time. 

“ASO get on the ground!” 

“ASO, hands up now!” 

“ASO, lower your weapons!” 

Or it was that. 

Taking advantage of their distraction at the newcomers, he picked off a few more, making sure the ade were still safe and hidden. 

He had a lot of issues with the Republic, with the Senate, but the ASO, for all it’s ties to both the Republic and the Senate, he liked it. 

Not just because it was Obi-Wan's brain child, but because it did genuine good and helped people and looked like it was taking the first steps to encouraging people from the Republic to stand up for themselves and their own people. 

And yeah, it was Obi-Wan's brain child and Obi was super proud of it, even if he didn’t say it too much. 

Jango was so proud of what his friend had accomplished already, and what it could become. 

He backed up, making sure he was between the goons and the ade so none of them could be taken as hostages, and shot a few more of the goons, bracing himself as the first flash grenades came through the windows and door. 

The goons fell fast, and, for a second, he worried they’d think him a threat and attack him too, but he recognised the head of the group and a few others. They recognised him too, having helped on missions before, often with Ben and a group of rescuees. 

Thank kriff, the last thing he needed was to be shot by members of the ASO. 

The last of the demagolka fell to stun or kill shots, the survivors cuffed, the fight over. 

“Beroya.” 

“Tachi, right?” 

“Indeed. You have a habit of ending up here.” 

“I don’t like slavers or people who hurt children. I came here because a child had been kidnapped, this was... more than I'd expected.” 

Even with her combat gear, the same as the other members of the group, her blonde hair and amused smile were traits he did recognise. She was one of Ben’s friends. He wasn’t sure if Tachi was a Jetii, or just an experienced fighter, but she was good with a blaster and a blade and a competent leader. Her troops clearly liked her and she was doing a good job helping rescue the people who needed it. 

Jetii or not, he liked her. 

“I’m glad you were here; every extra hand helps. Have you ever considered coming on full time?” 

“I have my own responsibilities, but I have some friends that might be willing to join.” 

“Part time, like Ben?” 

“I’m not sure I can, but like I said, I know some people.” 

“Eh, it was worth a try. Give me their comms, you willing to help us get the kids ready to go.” 

“Of course.” 

He was happy to help the ASO protect these ade, and he’d already established small connections to a few of them while sneaking in to free them. A few of the older and braver ade had stepped forwards the first time he’d crept through, told him how the guards did things like open the cages, and one had even warned him of one of the demagolka hiding in ambush, out of his sight but completely in hers. 

It had been a very brave thing for an ad’ika to do. 

If she hadn’t already mentioned having a home to go back to... 

The ASO troops, and now their masks and visors were gone he recognised at least three or four more, followed him to the back room. Well, they followed Tachi, but she was following him. 

The ade were shy, of course they were, but between him and Tachi’s friendliness and the fact that they were opening the cells and cages and promising to bring them home, the ade seemed willing to try to trust these adults. 

He led her over to the brave ad who’d warned him. 

“Tachi, may I introduce the very brave Rafa, who’s been looking after the others and her sister. Rafa, this is Miss Tachi, she’s going to help.” 

“Hello, little one. I’m Siri, Mr Mando here is just too polite to use my first name.” 

For a second Rafa giggled, then her seriousness took over. 

“You’re taking us home? To our parents.” 

“That’s the plan, where are you from?” 

“Lower levels, Coruscant, down the Portal. 1313.” 

“Well then, we’ll get you back home to them soon. I'm sure your parents are very worried about you both.” 

“Thank you, Miss Tachi.” 

Trusting that Tachi was with him, and owing to his rescuing them, Rafa picked up her little sister and followed Tachi out to the ASO ship, the blankets and bacta and food and everything else. 

While the ASO were helping the other 99 ade, he found the little girl he’d been hired to find. She was unharmed, fortunately, and wanted to go home to her mama. 

He'd need to convince Tachi that he needed to be the one to return her to her home. There was a lot of money in this, and he was pretty sure Ben had made sure there was a way for them to get around the bounty vs ASO clash. After all, if it was taken as a job, at the very least there would be expenses. 

Fortunately, he was not the first to have pointed such a thing out, Ben, he assumed, but he knew there were a few other Mando’ade from Little Keldabe had joined or were joining, and that not all of them might have wanted to give up bounty hunting entirely. La’a Vree, he knew, was one of them. 

The little girl was sitting with the medics and a few of the other ade, and he decided to join a few of the ASO. 

“They’re from Coruscant, they’re almost all from Coruscant, I don’t... I've lived my whole life on Coruscant, I had no idea it was this bad.” 

“It’s corrupt,” Tachi told her lieutenant, “especially on the lower levels. Lots of kids go missing, very few are reported, because the Guard on the lower levels doesn’t care. I have no idea how we fix it, but the best we can do for now is save the children and get them home when we can.” 

“Tachi is right,” Jango added, “what matters is helping the people we can. When we can.” 

“Don’t worry, Javin, people like Amidala and Organa are working on changing the laws to protect more people down in the lower levels. We’ll just find the ones that get missed.” 

The little girl’s mother was overjoyed at her being returned safely, and while Jango didn’t receive the full payment, that 1/4th of it went to the ASO didn’t bother him. He had more than enough for himself, and the ASO likely needed everything they could get. 

There were a lot of very corrupt Senators, some of which he was almost 100% certain owned slaves themselves, and they would oppose what the ASO were doing. 

No, he didn’t mind giving them money and support. 

They were doing a lot of good. 

. 

. 

. 

Clearing out small Death Watch groups was the most frequent type of mission Jango had to undertake, but they didn’t take too long and at this point they were pretty low risk. Not low enough he’d let his guard down, but he and Myles could take a small camp on their own if they had to. 

They did it every few weeks. 

This week's mission was no exception. 

Myles swore and yelled, “Jango, they’re all hiding behind those bushes." 

“Correction, vod," he yelled back, “They’re all hiding behind Topiaries.” 

Myles actually lowered his blaster and turned his whole body to look at him in disbelief, something he could read helmet or no. 

“Jango, the fuck?” 

“There is a difference.” 

A week later there was a small potted plant on his desk, and a note from Myles. 

\- Since you clearly care so much about plants. 

Obi-Wan had cackled, then helped him identify it and given him strict instructions on how to care for it. It was a small and hardy plant that flowered with the phases of the moon, deep, rich, purple petals on new moons, almost white blue ones on the full moon with deep blue centres that faded out, golden on supermoons and other lunar events. 

He named it Sal’sarad. 

It wasn’t creative, he knew, but it was something like that or straight up calling it Ben or Obi or something similar, because apparently it needed to have a name and be looked after. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Jas'Buir- parent Jaster  
> oisk- shit  
> Jetii- Jedi (Singular)  
> shabuir'e- bastards  
> demagolka- child abusers/war criminals/monsters, severe insult.  
> ade- children  
> Beroya- bounty hunter  
> ad'ika- small child, affectionate  
> ad- child  
> Mando'ade- mandalorians  
> vod- sibling/friend  
> Sal'sarad- colour flower/colour bloom
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> I've mentioned, mainly responding to comments, that Jango is pretty blind when it comes to his emotions, here is a pretty good example of exactly what I meant. Utter moron actually thinks it's just friendship. Di'kut. Anyway...  
> Please R+R.


	17. Sibling bonding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, mission kicking off.  
> I don't own Star Wars.  
> Please enjoy.

Padmé's mission was objectively simple, but a nightmare to execute.

A slave and auction city had been discovered on the Mid-Outer Rim planet of Eldaied, and System forces had agreed to let the ASO infiltrate and shut it down. It would require a lot of things going right if it was going to work and a lot of skill because the planet itself was caught under the grasp of the slavers and being insular, the rest of the system hadn’t noticed or didn’t care.

Fortunately, Obi-Wan wasn’t going in alone, he had his grandmaster, and,  to his  surprise ,

“Fee?”

“Hey Lil brother, ready for this mission?”

“I... always, but how did you...”

“Escape the grump?”

There was a sigh from Dooku, and four laughs. The first three were from Master  Ti , Quinlan and Aayla, and the fourth...

“Padawan  Badadi Adani, pleasure to meet you.”

To  Feemor’s right was a padawan, a  Tholothian girl who looked about 16, neat robes and a polite but amused grin plastered on her face.

“I don’t remember you taking on a padawan, young one?”

“Only this Nun Drazen. And I'm not so young anymore, grandmaster.”

“My first Master, Master Barnabus, was injured. He lived and will recover, but he won’t be able to continue my training. Master Gard has offered to do so in his stead.”

“Barnsey and I have been friends since the Creche. It was the least I could do.”

“Well, Padawan Adani,” he greeted, “welcome to the disaster that is out lineage. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“On the note of my lineage being a disaster,” Dooku  interrupted , “I believe we can all agree on Qui-Gon being the grump, and move onto the mission. Which I assume is in the Sector you were on Watch for, given that you’re here?”

“Yes. I brought my own intel back with me when I came back for Nun Drazen, and to pick up  Badadi almost a month ago. We would have acted sooner had we realised how dire it was before, though the situation does  appear to have taken a turn for the worst in the last three days.”

“We have linked Master Gard’s intel and Senator Amidala’s, and we have found a pattern. Master Gard has knowledge of both the area and the situation, and will be flying out there with you, and briefing you. He and his padawan will return to their Watch Post, but will be available for you as backup if required. Master Dooku and Knights Vos and Kenobi will take the main infiltration, you three will have a large ASO team as backup as well. Padawan Secura has your data packets.”

“Thank you, Master  Ti .”

.

.

.

Their trip to  Eldaied was enjoyably peaceful, though filled with the tension of knowing you were heading into a dangerous situation.

But it was brilliant to get to know his brother better, and to meet his new niece. 

Obi-Wan rolled his shoulders as he made his way to the table where his brother was seated and eating his breakfast, padawan nowhere in sight. He had little more than tea and a ration bar, but it was all he had the appetite for. They'd be arriving soon, and he’s seen slave auction enough in his life, and that was what they were flying into.

“No  Badadi ?”

“She’s sleeping, she’s a teenager after all. You remember those days.”

“Vaguely, but...”

“But we had the grump.”

“He was strict, but actually I was talking more of my own natural insomnia and early morning choices. Visions had me up at all hours.”

“Course you were the type for early mornings. Speaking of the Grump, what’s going on with him? He's always been strict, like you said, but he’s never been like this before. Even when he  reputed me.”

“Fee, I'd tell you if I knew. He seems to be  completely convinced I've fallen or that I'm falling or going to fall.”

“Has he considered opening his eyes?”

“Fee.”

“Kriffing Xanatos, all these years and he’s still causing trouble.”

“Indeed.”

They both turned to greet their grandmaster and he was pretty sure  Feemor was just as curious as to how long he’d been standing there listening.

“Grandmaster.”

“Good morning grandmaster.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with Qui, but I have been informed by Mace that he is  seeing a mind healer.”

“That’s great. Of course,”  Feemor grumbled, “it would be better if he actually wanted to be there. I think we all know how little they can do if the patient refuses to co-operate.”

Obi-Wan hoped his question would sound more practical, “Could it ground him?”

“Depends on what they find. Unfortunately, there’s every chance they won’t find anything and it will be all for naught. Our Mind healers are good, but they’ve never had to deal with Sith before. There are Sith techniques that make it almost impossible to find the darkness, ways to hide it. They haven’t been used for  millennia , but now the Sith are back...”

“I know.” Obi-Wan did know, all too  well, “ He changed so dramatically, something had to have happened, it sounds mean, but I hope they do find something.”

“I’m still putting money on it being something to do with  Xanatos .”

Obi-Wan didn’t think Fee was wrong there.

“He’s been doing a lot with his criminal investments at the moment, Death Watch activity is increasing in the  Mandalore sector and on the boarders to Republic space, the crime gangs are getting bolder and I'm almost certain... actually, I don’t know. It feels like they’re starting to build up to something, but I'm not sure what. It’s concerning.”

“Speaking of Mandalore, Obi, what’s happening with that. I saw Mando armour on your ship and seem to know an awful lot.”

“I do. My  beskar’gam . I was adopted by the clan in Little  Keldabe . On the mission rosters you’ll see a Mandalorian called Ben  Delstee , that’s also me.”

“Please please please tell me you’re pretending its two different people and that you’re pretending to everyone they hate each other and that’s why they’re never on missions together.”

“Funny, Fee.”

“He may not be encouraging such a thing, but don’t worry, grandpadawan, people are drawing that conclusion already. It makes for very interesting gossip, including a claim that I believe originated from Knight Vos of Obi-Wan and Ben having a fistfight.”

“How much of this does the Grump know?”

“He doesn’t. Very few Jedi do. My Clan thinks it’s hilarious and...”

“Attention, all hands, we will be docking in 2 hours. To repeat, docking in 2 hours.”

“I’m going to make sure  Badadi is ready.”

“I’ll find Quin.”

.

.

.

While it was technically untrue to refer to the Space Port as  Feemor’s station, that was what Obi-Wan did. His posting meant he had a small office and living space there, as well as a ship all on this Space station. Because this sector was rather anti- ‘big- government’, Fee didn’t really have many connections with the local law enforcements or leaders, at least not as a Jedi, but on this  station they did know who he was as it was his main and official posting. The sector had asked for help, but that was more to the influence of people like Padmé, Naboo being on the edge of the Sector over, rather than the closer planets.

Some Sentinels were clearly Jedi, but others, like Fee, kept a quieter approach most of the time. They watched the system and monitored situations, reporting threats and discoveries as they went.

He was impressed with what his brother and grandmaster did/had done, he didn’t think the role would suit him as well as Shadow work did. It was not the isolation or the pretending to be someone you’re not, but the having to stand aside in the face of injustice. To preserve his cover, he knew he could do it, but to always have to stand on the side-lines, calling injustices in and moving on, trusting that someone else would come and solve the problems because it would save more lives in the long run.

Pragmatically, he knew it was a good thing, that it was the right thing, that more lives would be saved if the Sentinel on Watch maintained their cover, kept moving to aid a wider area and sent for people to save those in need, he just wasn’t sure that he personally could do that. Move on and trust things would be solved.

Well, that was why he was a Shadow not a Watchman.

It was in his nature to act, even it said action required patience. He could manage a stake-out, manage evidence gathering if it was necessary, but to do nothing more than make a report and move on... what was to stop it being ignored. 

He remembered  Melida /Daan’s messages for help being shunned, remembered every slave camp he’d found with the ASO and, once he’d done some digging, found reports about several of them buried in Senate files. He couldn’t bare the idea that someone's suffering would be  buried in such a way because all he’d done was send a memo that was intercepted and put down for someone  else's greed.

Even evidence gathering for the ASO he knew would be used, he trusted the people he was giving the information too, their system made sure he would get reports on how the missions and legal cases following up his work went if he was not a part of that mission, and if it was taking a while, he could inquire (pester) for information and/or action.

He waved  Feemor and  Badadi off, before joining the rest of the task force. Chances  were they wouldn’t need  Feemor’s backup, and he wouldn’t see his brother again until they were setting off at the end of the mission, and from there for Force knew how long.

It was time to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Beskar'gam- beskar armour
> 
> Oh hey, not much Mando'a.  
> So yeah, we got some family bonding, we got some new family members, and we've got a mission. Let's go.  
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> Please R+R.


	18. Into the city, into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update, as always, haha.  
> I still don't own Star Wars. :-(  
> Warnings: I know it's already in the tags, but slavery. I'm adding it in this note because it's going to be a major theme to this and the next few chapters.  
> Please enjoy.

Getting into the... Obi-Wan didn’t know quite what to call it, far larger than an auction house, not quite a city, but it didn’t matter except that it was easy enough.

They accepted his ship, the Dha’Senaar, without issue, the ship being listed to his cover irrefutably by the ASO.

His  Beskar’gam , missing his clan pauldron and  Haat’ad symbols, helped him blend in easily. Master Dooku, leaning on his  Serennian roots, looked easily like he’d own a hundred slaves and be happy to gain a few more. In fact, if he hadn’t been using the  Beskar to get in as someone looking  fo r his job, he could have very easily gone in as Dooku’s slave, it would have been believable enough. Similarly, Quin would be wandering around the encampment, as would most of their group, investigation, gathering intelligence, looking like they belonged and, when the time came, getting into position.

If this sting went  well, they might be able to shut down the Slave trade in this part of the Mid-rim. 

Yes it had come up due to  Feemor , but  Padmé had been the one to realise that many of her subjects were being kidnapped and taken from Naboo to  Eldaied . Naboo and many of the other mid-rim planets nearby needed this to be taken care of.

Goran Delstee had approved of his wearing his Beskar’gam into this situation, insisted on his needing the protection. But yeah, she wasn’t so keen on the Delstee aliik being on display in a slaver city until the fighting started. So much so that she’d given him another one to wear in its place showing him as Nassade until they made their move. He understood completely, after all the Delstee’s were an honourable clan, and worked very hard to keep it that way. Being a Delstee in a slave camp was intolerable, being a Desltee freeing a slave camp, that was a good thing for the world to see. Another reason this mission had to go well.

The city was  hideous . 

There were so many slaves, so much pain and cruelty and harshness. Blood on the cobbles and whippings in the streets, shop fronts with slaves next to clothes or food on sale, children in cages and...

It was just hideous.

But of course, Bee  Nassade was not troubled by such things, being a ruthless and uncaring rogue Mandalorian, with no clan and no family left, and if his cover was to be maintained, he could not react to what was happening. He was above it. He was there for work and maybe a layover, not the chattel.

It was hard, the sort of challenge even shadow training didn’t really train you for. The sort of thing that challenged so many of their recruits for the ASO, Jedi or otherwise.

“I need two rooms.”

“Ah, Mando, welcome,  uhh , welcome, we have umm, we have plenty of rooms, yes, uhhh...”

“I don’t need the simpering small talk. Get on with it.”

He knew he was being rude, but for his cover, he had to. This poor slave had likely done no wrong before he ended up in chains, and even if he had committed a crime, slavery was awful, still, he needed to maintain his cover and he needed a room. There were people watching, after all.

It didn’t help that the Concord Dawn accent was rather blunt when spoken with Basic and while it was an awful stereotype to play into or add onto,  Mandalorians had reputations in places like this. They wouldn’t suffer someone whimpering at them, scared out of their mind. They definitely wouldn’t be kind, not in a building this close to the main city centre, frequented by the richest and most upper class scum. 

Bee  Nassade got a room, and he scanned for bugs, then  commed the group to let them know he was settled and that Dooku could come to claim the second room. The first part of his plan had gone well. 

So far.

He needed to meditate, but the Force here was so dark, he wasn’t sure he wanted to touch it. Still, he needed to regain his centre if he wanted to help people.

As he sunk into the layers of the Force, the damage around him became somehow more noticeable, the stains over everything. He could feel in his room alone the pain and despair and hopelessness and death of those who had been in this room before, the bed... he wasn’t touching the bed, he’d sleep in his  beskar’gam on the purest part of the floor if he slept at all. What was weird, he noticed, was that the darkness was not actually really flowing out of every single thing, the dark wasn’t the only thing there, in fact...

With his soul he reached out. Touching the darkness was stupid and foolish and dangerous in a place like the Temple, let alone in a hellhole like this, but was following the will of the Force and sometimes that left him doing stupid things.

The darkness was not the only part of the Force here, and as he brushed his light against it, it began to thin. Like dust on a shelf or paint on a wall. He reached out with more pressure, and rubbed a small section of his room, until the dark was faded and it was glowing with light again. Dim, tarnished, weak, but it wasn’t dark.

Weird. 

He'd never heard of being able to brush away darkness before.

Rising back out of meditation, and struck by his new revelation, he picked up his  padd and started looking into the city's history. Until about 15 years ago, it had been a thriving artistic city, every wall and window bright with colour and imagery. Then the normally abundant planet had suffered a drought, several years long,  it’s excess funds had dwindled and a harsher more dangerous governing system had taken power, and while they had advertised to the Senate that what they’d been doing was for the good of their suffering people, it was clear that had been when the slave  traders had been introduced.

That must be it. A city of light, covered in a dust of darkness like the sandstorm that had taken their crops. 

His comm chirped, time to go down and greet his employer.

.

.

.

His cover, Bee Nassade, had been hired by Dooku’s cover Berwyth as a bodyguard. He was meeting his boss here, and while they’d worked together before, Bee was no permanent hire.

All he really had to do was walk behind Dooku looking menacing, using his paranoia as hired muscle to excuse his watching everything, his  buy’ce recording what he could see as proof of what was happening.

Similarly, he’d use it to record meetings with the officials Dooku had paid his way into, and the  auctions .

This whole place was covered in a sickening darkness, there was so much pain, so much fear.

What he wouldn’t have given for an actual beskar buy’ce just to keep it out?

He followed Dooku into the first meeting, standing silently behind him and  slightly to  the left, shoulders set.

Lum was a rake thin human, but he still managed to carry a very malicious air around him, likely because every feature he had was just sharp. He ran the slave trade on Eldaied, though he did not run the planet or city themselves, nor any other industries, just the trades of slaves. He was their first and main target if this was to work.

Dooku bowed respectfully to the throned slaver, “Greetings, Ser Lum.”

“Berwyth, or so my people tell me. You’ve travelled a way to see me.”

“My usual markets have failed me. Between that new organisation taking down trades and  Kevaan Marz’ uselessness, I am forced to look further afield, and your reputation is commendable.”

“ Kevaan Marz? Yes, I have heard things about him.”

“Unreliable. And the slaves are half trained at best, far more effort on my part to be worth the cost he charges.”

“Well don’t you worry, I have high quality standards, and we uphold them. Tell me, what has put you in the market, good sir, what can I help provide you with?”

“I have house slaves to spare, warriors and cooks and cleaners, but personal attendants, they were good and reliable until they fell sick and did not recover. Like I said, I have tried to replace them closer to home, but quality was dismal.”

“Ah, personal attendants, we have a wide selection and would be happy to help.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but notice how many eyes were on him, and how even Lum’s gaze kept slipping from Dooku to himself.

Dooku had noticed too.

“Ah, indeed, may I introduce my bodyguard, Bee Nassade.”

“How exactly did you end up with a Mandalorian under your command, they do not bow easily? I must know.”

“ Mandalorians tend to take life debts, all debts, rather seriously, and I've made sure I have my help where I need them to be. He won’t be leaving my side any time soon.”

“ So, I can’t buy him off you? Shame.”

“Unfortunately not, I like him where he is.”

Their cover story was somewhat complex, that he’d been trapped by a life debt then put into a situation where he could not escape. Technically he was still free, but between debt, blackmail, emotional manipulation and a few other things, he was well and truly trapped in Berwyth’s service. They all had it memorised for when it inevitable came up again in more detail, and Dooku hadn’t spared on some of the grim details should they be asked. It would not be as horrific as many of the stories of actual slaves in the city, but it would be convincingly grim.

He was already certain Lum would love it.

Tomorrow they’d be taken to the markets.

They were in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> Dha'Senaar- Dark Bird (Was gonna be Dark Wing but I couldn't find wing.) Obi-Wan's ship.  
> Beskar'gam- Mando armour  
> Haat'ad- True Mandalorian (short version)  
> Aliik- sigil, usually for a clan  
> Nassade- no-body/ no-one, when used as a name it means clanless.  
> buy'ce- helmet
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.  
> It's shorter than some chapters I know, but I'm still building things. The mission's building up and Obi's fiddling with the light now.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> Please R+R.


	19. Inside the city, inside the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newt update, the mission begins for real.  
> I don't own Star Wars.  
> Please enjoy.

The markets were awful, and no amount of experience made it easier to deal with.

There were just so many slaves.

Children in chains, whippings in the streets, starvation rife, pain and desperation leaking into the Force so much he was practically choking.

He wanted to bend down and give these children food at the very least, but a sharp look from Dooku kept him in line, which actually played into their cover. Lum had noticed, and by his smirk and leaning over to mutter something to Dooku, followed by the nudge Dooku gave him in the Force, Lum was more convinced than ever of their cover.

The small but growing force bond he had with his grandmaster was certainly useful in situations like this, as was the one he had with Quin with whom he was sending little ticks back and forth every hour or so as check in. The other ones he had, with people like Bant or Garen, he blocked for missions like these beyond their being able to sense he was alive.

Lum and Dooku had discussed in private more of their dealings that morning over breakfast, he and Lum’s guards having to stay well back. It had started with what sort of slaves Dooku wanted specifically, race, gender, mobility, speech or no speech, a conversation awful enough that he was actually very ok with not being part of it, just standing to the side and acting the part of someone both enslaved and a guard, totally dedicated to the protection of their charge. It was a strange juxtaposition; one he knew many people who saw slavery as little more than an abstract couldn’t believe in. Hells, he knew people in the ASO who questioned why a slave would ever protect their master, but, as the more experienced of them knew, it happened all too frequently. A misplaced sense of owing, an inability to imagine or hope for something better, utter terror of the consequences if they didn’t. 

The conversation had flowed from the type of slave Dooku as  Berwyth would want to how they trained and broke their slaves, with a promise to show them said facilities later, and then onto other business including  Berwyth’s life and business and more of his history, how he’d come to  Berwyth’s service and how he’d been broken. Lum was clearly impressed that Dooku had managed to corral a Mandalorian so much so that they’d ignore helping an ad in need. Impressed that he had managed to corral a Mandalorian so effectively and totally. 

He seemed to quite like  Berwyth . 

Obi-Wan bowed his head slightly at Lum and Dooku’s shared laugh towards his taming, before returning to his ‘ready bodyguard’ stance as they continued through the city streets.

He continued to follow them around, taking note of guard postings, cameras, defendable points, anything that could help them. It was easy to feign weakness, and far easier to act as though you still cared but were being forced to be indifferent than to try for actual indifference and risk the falsehood being telegraphed in a slip up. After all, people are complex. It would be easy to sum up a Mandalorian as gruff and indifferent, but far more realistic that he was aiming to come across that way, and Lum was buying into it completely. A broken Mandalorian pretending not to care to cover up his own pain and helplessness in the face of the suffering of those he should be able to protect, very  very believable, and for people like Lum, entertaining.

He noted at least 5 other members of the ASO milling around, working out good strategic points and ways to deal with certain security measures. He also caught Quin a few times on the range of his field of since without reaching out, and felt the nudge that  signalled he’d found the control centre for chips and collars.

He worked fast.

Still, finding it and disabling it were two different things.

The slaves in the shops and the outdoor markets were not really what they were seeking though, they were Lum’s way of showing off, no, the personal attendants, and  kriff was that weird to say when talking about slavery, were all inside and being put to use, for the most part.

Inside wasn’t much better. 

You could really see the planets history in the building, bright colours, though the paint was faded and peeling, tapestries and rugs and vases and even the clothes. The rich, the slave owners, wore bright clothes, coloured dyes and bright patterns, but even the slaves had some pretty interesting adornments. They were designed to be aesthetically pleasing, even if there was a clear difference between the slave’s clothing and that of the slavers.

Dooku spent more time building a rapport with Lum than he did actually looking for a slave, but that was pretty standard. No-one went straight for the sale in a place like this.

Still, by the time the day was over he could do little more than sweep mentally for bugs, then collapse into his light spot and sigh. 

Kriff this was hard. He could do it, of course he could, he had to, but oisk.

Seeing slaves, seeing such painful injustice, it was awful. Coupled with having to do nothing for now, listening to Lum and Dooku as  Berwyth mocking him and enjoying the ability to lord their power over a Mandalorian, even one who was  Nassade and no matter how fake it was in reality, the darkness that was blanketing everything.

It was simply a struggle, and would be for anyone.

He sank into meditation for the second night in a row, and started brushing away a bit more of the darkness, building himself a little more of a sanctuary in this hell hole. The darker this place was, the darker his visions could be, and he really did not want to wake up screaming in a place like this, even if it probably  couldn't detract from his cover.

Rising out of it, he flicked open his comm.

First was an update from Captain Ackers, one of their ASO members, that basically laid out the plan they’d put together with the info they now had and a potential timescale to work with.

Secondly, Quin, with his own intel on the collars and a few additions for the plan.

Thirdly, Loree Delstee, which he hadn’t expected.

He flicked the comm button, and it started ringing.

“Ah, how goes the mission?”

“Painfully,  vod , painfully, but we’re getting there.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Yeah, we’re getting a pretty good plan and timeline for our action, it’ll be a hard one but we can pull it off, especially if we can get some of the slaves to rise up when the time comes. Force,  vod , this place... it’s horrific.”

“I know  vod , but you’re strong and you get things done. You'll save these people like you have the others in the past, you’ll be fine.”

“You know 15 years ago this place was a thriving art town. 15 years, and now it’s a slaver hellhole, because of one drought. That's all it took... I mean, places like Tatooine, where slavery has been around for millennia and nothing anyone’s done so far has really helped, we try, but everyone  kinda understands it, even though it’s awful. But this, there was no slavery here, and one disaster struck, then a new group took over and now...”

“And now a planet full of people are waiting for you and your ASO to get them back to that, and you’ll do it. Vod, I am a keeper of lore, and I'm telling you, most people don’t have the balls to run missions like this, let alone set up something like the ASO with all the legal and political protections on top of the missions themselves. You know what you wanted to do and you’re doing it. So work out your plan, execute it, then come home so the clan can be annoyingly proud and  Buire can gush about how their ad started the Republics Anti-Slave Organisation some more.”

“You suck.”

“I know. But it was about half of what Clan Eldar heard about last time they visited.”

“ Oh dear  Ka’ra .”

“Lek.”

“That’ll come back to haunt me at some point.”

“I know and I can’t wait. But you look exhausted, so I'm going to let you sleep.” 

“Did you only comm to see how the mission was going?”

“I adopted you as my  vod’ika , I worry about you as my vod’ika. So stay safe.”

“You too, we need our Goran and I need my ori’vod.”

“ Ori’nuhoy vaar’ika.” 

“ Ori’nuhoy , agol’e.” 

The comm flicked off and the peaceful atmosphere that came from talking to his  aliit , even over comms, vanished.

He let out a  shaky breath.

One or two more days.

.

.

.

It was two days, but that morning he woke long before the sun, checked every weapon and piece of kit. If all went to plan, by the next sun rise, Eldaied would be free.

If all went to plan.

He loved the people he worked with, their efficiency and dedication and perseverance. That he could work with them, that people had heeded his call and chosen to help those trapped in slavery across the galaxy. 

For two days they’d been gathering everything they needed for this mission, and hopefully none of their lives would be lost when the fighting started.

It would start, he had no doubt. The people who ran this city were armed and dangerous, even with things like the collars de-activated. The city was one of the only inhabited places on the planet, though there were supposed to be a few other places with local populations, had they not been killed or enslaved. And there were painfully few fighters.

But you didn’t necessarily need to be a fighter. There was a reason freedom or death was such a common phrase, and all over the galaxy, slaves were capable of great things when given the chance for their freedom. With the collars and chips deactivated, and hope within reach, there would be people who would rise up. 

The ASO had found a few already, and taken the risk of getting the word around so when things kicked off there could also be order. The slaves outnumbered the owners 40:1 and the ASO had 120 of their own people in the city, not even including Obi-Wan, Dooku and Quin.

It would be enough, it had to be.

He met Dooku for breakfast, not that he would eat. He'd had a ration bar that morning, here he followed Dooku around, never removed his  buy’ce and almost never spoke. It wasn’t his ‘place’.

That was the hardest part of the mission.  Certainly, the pain and suffering of others didn’t help, and was difficult on  it’s own, but pretending to be a slave...

Sometimes it was harder than he liked to remember it wasn’t real. That he wasn’t actually a slave, that he wasn’t actually trapped, that the harsh words thrown his way meant nothing. He bowed his head because it was his cover, because it was how he was going to save these people, not because he had to, not because he would be punished should he look his master in the eyes, not because he did not have the energy to raise his head.

He wasn’t a slave, no, not this time. This time he was free and here to help.

He just had to keep remembering it as the days passed and Lum’s comments chaffed.

Dooku's too, though he usually sent a slight pulse down their bond with his words, which lessened their blow even as his grandmaster verbally dehumanised him. He could feel the distaste and distain as he said them, but Master Dooku was a skilled actor and an experienced one. He could make the sacrifices needed to convince their enemies of his cover for the greater good, and Obi-Wan could endure for the same goal.

He was lucky that his cover was as a Mando, though. He could have endured as a personal slave, every slur and leer and beating, he could and had endured it, but being a bodyguard meant unless he transgressed badly, he would not be touched. Yelled at, dehumanised, sneered at, but not touched in any way, and with a reason to defend himself if he was. Lum was the sort who would have very much enjoyed taking a hand to the red-headed  Stewjoni for no reason but that he had the power too, and there would have been nothing Dooku could have done for him. No, the faceless Mando was the way to go here.

He followed them into the street side café, stood himself unmoving, back to the wall, as they ate. Fresh fruits and creams and sweet pastries while the slaves they owned starved. He held in a flinch as Lum hand fed some of his fruit, smothered with a dollop of cream, to his personal slaves, the two who never left his side and were knelt next to him as they ate. Obi’s buy’ce covered the disgust he knew he probably would have otherwise failed to hide, and he admired his grandmaster for keeping his face so neutral, especially as Lum followed it by petting their hair.

Soon they would be free. Soon. 

They’d been quite curious about him, at first fearful, like most slaves, because  Mando’ade in places like this were almost exclusively  dar’manda and  shabuir , but they’d soon realised he too was a slave, at least in every way that counted. He wasn’t sure how to define the way they looked at him now, pity and horror and amusement and sorrow. No eyes should bare the weight they held in theirs, and they were both so young...

Soon, they’d be free soon. He just had to keep reminding himself.

With breakfast over, Lum gestured for them to head for the markets. 

His internal comm flashed up inside his buy’ce and he sent a signal down the bond to Dooku.

Everyone was in place, and as soon as they were inside the grand markets of  Eldaied’s palace, where the personal attending slaves were held and sold, they would be too.

There was a sudden silence as they walked through the doorway to the market that Obi-Wan realised was a lack of buzzing in the Force. 

The collars and chips.

They were deactivated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:  
> ad- child  
> oisk- shit  
> Nassade- nobody/no-one/ when used as a name- clanless  
> vod- sibling  
> Buire- parents  
> Ka'ra- Stars/ancient mythical council of elders  
> lek- yeah  
> vod'ika- little sibling  
> Goran- metalsmith and lore keeper  
> ori'vod- older sibling  
> Ori'nuhoy vaar'ika- good night pip-squeak  
> Ori'nuhoy agol'e- goodnight muscles  
> aliit- family/clan  
> buy'ce- helmet  
> Mando'ade- Mandalorians  
> dar'manda- not mandalorian (lost their mandalorian soul)  
> shabuir- bastard
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.  
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey.  
> Please R+R.

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a translations:  
> Mand'alor- soul ruler.  
> Buir-parent  
> shabuir- insult, bastard (ish)  
> Jetiise- Jedi (plural)  
> Shereshoy- lust for life  
> Mando'ade- child of mMndalore/ Mandalorian.  
> ad- child.  
> jet'iika- little Jedi.  
> adiik- child, 3-13  
> dar'vod- no longer sibling.  
> huut'un- coward (awful insult)  
> vod'ika- little brother  
> aliit- family/clan  
> Ka'ra- Stars/ ancient mythical ruling council.  
> Ob'ika- little Obi-Wan.  
> Ad'ika- young child  
> Ad'be'Alor- Prince/child of the soul ruler  
> ori’ramikad- super commando  
> Oh ner ad. Oh Jan’ika. Gar su’cuyi. Gar nu kyr’adyc. Oh, my child, Oh little Jango, you’re still alive. You're not dead.  
> Baar'ur- Doctor  
> Udesii. Udesii, ad’ika. Gar morut’yc.- calm, calm, little one, you're safe.  
> Elek- yes  
> Kyr-stad- Death Watch
> 
> My Tumblr is One_Real_Imonkey, for chat or questions or anything.  
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.  
> Please R+R.


End file.
